Taking Control of Destiny
by bobness
Summary: When Gilbert, Arthur, and Alfred end up together in a foster home, they don't really know what to expect. One thing's for certain, though- they just can't get control of their lives. Rated T for language.
1. Situations

**Goodness, look at me! Just _look_ at me! Starting a new story without ever finishing my others? Ah, I'm a horrible, rotten person. But I had this idea in my head for a few days, and I was too excited _not_ to write it down. I had to, you see? **

**This is based off an old children's book I love, 'The Pinballs' by Betsy Byars. ****Even after all these years, it's still one of my favorites. Please check it out (it really isn't a long read at all, and just very heartwarming). I changed a few things in my story, especially a certain person's gender (Gilbert is based off the main character, a girl by the name of Carlie) and just a few other events, since I don't want to keep it EXACTLY the same.**

**Uh, anyway, enjoy...  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or The Pinballs.**

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><p>Gilbert found out that life was difficult at an early age. He was easily able to blame his mother for this, too. She had a tendency to go through husbands as if they were shoes. Her husbands were often the reason he didn't enjoy life as much as he should.<p>

The first husband, Gilbert's biological father, was gone shortly after Gilbert was born. His mother always stated how nice he was, how special he made her feel, but if he was so nice, then why didn't he want to stay with them? Gilbert had always wondered such, but he never received a definite answer, not from his mother, not from anyone.

The second father brought with him his own five children, all of whom were older than Gilbert and treated him like shit. The two girls were okay, they just poked jabs at his pale complexion and silver hair. The three boys were the ones who bullied him. He was able to evade them most of the time, since he knew the neighborhood and they didn't. With this father, they lived in such a small house, so, more often than not, Gilbert was forced to sleep on the floor. When he did get a chance on the bed, he had to share with the three older boys, resulting in much pushing and shoving. He found he'd much rather take the floor.

The third father barely paid any sort of attention to Gilbert. He'd come home at odd hours every morning, smelling of whiskey and sex, and would sleep until late afternoon. His mother didn't seem to mind, so long as he brought in some sort of money. Luckily, he most certainly did. Neither of them knew what his job was, but so long as they continued living off of his wealth, they were happy. This father was the only one who brought Gilbert presents, making him Gilbert's favorite, even if he did make the house reek of cigarette smoke and alcohol.

The fourth father was the one who finally tested Gilbert's patience. He yelled constantly, at both him and his new wife, berating them every moment he could, especially Gilbert. It was this man who called him worthless, ugly, good-for-nothing, idiotic...whatever. He'd come up with his own insults and use such colorful language, just to see the misery in Gilbert's eyes.

It built up a rage inside of Gilbert, until he finally found the guts to yell right back.

The day he yelled started off as a normal day. Later on, though, Step-Father #3 (as he came to be known to Gilbert), ordered his step-son to cook them all some dinner. Normally, Gilbert would have gladly done so, but not this time. For this time, Step-Father #3 managed to throw in some jab at Gilbert's lack of friends, flat-out saying that he wasn't loved. This caused Gilbert to blow up.

"Don't tell me what to do!" the boy screeched, meaning to yell about the hurtful comments but finding himself getting more angry over being ordered around. "You're not my dad, so quit acting like it!"

His father- step-father, he corrected himself- turned a dangerous color of crimson as he stood from his spot upon the dirty, old armchair. "You ungrateful little worm, do you know how much I've sacrificed for you? If it wasn't for me, your mother would have kicked your sorry little ass out, and you'd be living on the fucking streets!"

Gilbert faced his mother, his ruby-red eyes blazing with anger. "Tell him that's not true!" he screamed. "Tell him to leave me alone!"

And his mother, the tall, blonde beauty that she was, simply looked away from her son, her gaze hard and unsympathetic, uncaring.

Feeling more than betrayed, Gilbert turned back to his step-father. "This is your fault! Before you came along, everything was perfect!" But that was a lie, and everyone in the room knew it.

Step-Father #3 laughed bitterly. "You little shithead. I'm probably the best thing that's happened in your pathetic life."

"Shut up!"

"You don't know what's good for yourself," the man continued. "You're just a selfish asshole! No wonder your father left you!"

Something snapped inside of Gilbert, and he felt a piercing shock of absolute hatred run through his veins. He stomped forward, clenching his fists and blinking away tears. "Shut up!" he screamed again, screamed it over and over. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut-!"

He didn't see the hand coming, but it came. It shot out and smacked his face, the sound seeming to echo throughout the now silent house. Gilbert felt his head spinning and he swore he could see stars. However, he managed to retaliate, weakly slapping his step-father's own cheek (which, in his current state, seemed more like his hand brushing against the man's face).

"No one slaps me without getting slapped in return," he gasped out, right before his eyes rolled back and he fell.

He was sent to a foster home until 'difficulties between [his] parents could be worked out'.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he had asked the social worker, looking a bit bemused by how quickly things were happening.

The social worker barely cast him a glance. "It means until your parents get their act together and learn how to properly look after a child," she said.

Gilbert blinked. "Until my folks learn parenting skills?" When the woman nodded in confirmation, Gilbert groaned and rolled his eyes. "How unawesome. I'm gonna be in this fucking foster home for the rest of my life."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Arthur more or less made himself a loner at school. It just came naturally to him, considering he was also a loner in his own home. His father would stay out late at nights, playing poker or going to some bar with his friends, so Arthur just had to fend for himself. He learned early on that his own cooking wouldn't actually suffice, though, so he usually picked something up from the nearby KFC. At first, he hated the chicken, the way it spread grease over his fingers and whatever else he touched, but it soon came to be his comfort food, his favorite food. He'd sip tea and eat chicken as he finished his homework or read through one of the many books he'd check out from the local library.

He hated the setup, though. He didn't mind being alone so much, he told himself that, but sometimes he just really wanted someone beside him. Sometimes he just really wanted someone to listen to him talk about school or life in general. He thought that, if his mother knew what exactly he went through, she'd come home and take him away, take him to live with whatever cult it was that she joined, where they'd probably treat him well and fix him homemade meals every day.

The only problem was that he didn't know where she was.

He clearly remember the night she left. His parents thought he was sleeping, but he listened to their argument, every last bit of it. "I need to go," she had told his father. "I need to live, need to breathe some more!"

"Need to live?" His father scoffed. "What are you doing right now, then, Emily? Dying?"

"George-"

His father slammed his hands into the table. "No, you listen to me, Emily. You have a son. You can't just run away from him! He's not just my responsibility, he's yours!"

In the end, though, nothing his father could say changed his mother's mind. Arthur fell asleep behind the couch and when he woke, the house was emptied of nearly all things that had belonged to his mother. What was left, his father burned.

He spent every moment he could searching for information of where she went. He couldn't bear just living with his neglecting father. He needed her. He'd flip through the daily magazine they had subscribed to, desperate to catch any sign of her. He thought he never would, but one day he did. One day, he did strike gold.

There was a large picture on page 47. He didn't read the article at all- he was much too interested in the picture. The picture that showed his mother, sitting with a bunch of elderly people, working on some sort of hammock. She looked happier than she ever had before, and he found himself drawn to the photograph, just staring.

Admittedly, perhaps showing it to his father wasn't the most intelligent idea in the world. If he thought it through, he could have read the article to find out where exactly she was. But his excitement won over, and he hurriedly presented the picture to his father.

Once his father laid eyes on it, he snatched the magazine from Arthur's hands and refused to look his son in the eyes. "That's not her," he snarled. "You're mistaken."

"But it is," Arthur protested. "I know what she looks like."

"It isn't her!" His father's voice was loud and angry. Arthur didn't know what to do, so he just stood there in shock, watching as his father stomped away.

He didn't seek out answers after that incident. He did want that magazine, goodness knows he did, but he caught his father burning it later on the night, just as he did to everything else that belonged to his mother. They spoke of it no more, and life continued on as always; lonesome and quiet.

However, there was one escape Arthur had- writing. He loved to write more than anything in the world. Knowing this, his teachers encouraged him to write more and more, until he was finally persuaded to enter in a local essay contest. The topic was 'what I want most', and Arthur easily stole first place with a beautifully written piece about his strong desire for a friend. He cheerfully told his father, who congratulated him and promised to take him to the award ceremony, where he'd be able to shake hands with the city mayor and would receive a prize of twenty dollars.

He was never more enthusiastic for anything in his whole life. He dressed nicely that day, somehow putting on that infuriating tie and somewhat combing down his messy, blonde hair. Once satisfied with his appearance, he had climbed into the passenger's seat of his father's truck and waited.

Not even ten minutes later, his father came from the house, blinking in confusion when he saw Arthur in his truck. "What're you doing?" he asked, his words slurred together.

Arthur stared right back at him, realizing with disbelief that he was drunk. "The award ceremony is tonight."

His father scoffed. "No, it's poker night. Tuesday's are always poker nights, you know that." He opened the door to Arthur's side. "Get out."

Arthur's face pulled into a frown, his green eyes widening, knowing that his father wasn't going to take him. Still, he refused to let this knowledge deter him. Maybe if he argued enough, they would go. "You promised."

"Out!"

"No. You promised. You did, you said we'd go. You were _proud_ of me." He felt his lower lip quivering, but kept his tears back.

Arthur's father seemed to have lost his temper, though. With a growl of anger, he forcefully pulled Arthur from the truck, yanking his arm a bit more than necessary and depositing him in the yard in a rather harsh manner. While Arthur struggled to stand to his feet, bruises already forming from where his father grabbed him, his father had made his way to the driver's seat and locked all the doors. Arthur heard the engine start, and he panicked.

He wasn't going to give up, not yet. He wanted this more than anything. He _wanted_ people to see what he wrote, _wanted_ people to recognize him, _wanted_ to be famous, at least in his small town.

He finally found his balance and ran to the truck, determined to pound at the windows until his father gave in. It never happened, though. His plan didn't go through. When he was just behind the large truck, it suddenly shot back in reverse.

He had felt a blinding pain and heard the cracking of bones, but he still wasn't sure what happened, for he blacked out right after that. He found himself in the hospital later on, with two badly broken legs. His father pleaded with the judge, sobbing that it was a new truck and he meant to go forward and he just had a little too much to drink. This didn't change the fact that Arthur was hurt and had suffered years of neglect. He was sent to the foster home until his father was able to 'rehabilitate himself'. His father cried even more at this, apologizing over and over again.

Unlike his father, though, Arthur didn't shed a single tear.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Alfred never knew either of his parents. He was found in the front yard of two elderly sisters- Thomas and Jefferson. People always marveled at their names (according to their story, Thomas Jefferson was their father's favorite president, so he saw it fit to name his twins after his idol), but they didn't ever seem to mind being given such masculine names. In fact, since it was what their father wanted, they actually gave off the vibe that they loved their names.

Even though Alfred was given a name ("Alfred after our father," they had said, "And the F. for the fun of it."), they never referred to him by such. They would simply call him 'boy' or 'youngster' or, his personal favorite, and the one rarely used, 'sweetie'.

He always wondered why his parents had abandoned him. Not that he minded being raised by the twins, but he just wanted to know more about his mother and father. Was he not good enough for them? Was he too ugly or did he take up too much of their time? Why did they abandon him?

One thing he never did, though, was express his questions to the twins. He was just thankful they took him in, thankful they cared for him. Besides that, he wasn't too good at expressing himself. Sure, he'd smile and laugh, but that was only ever because the twins stated how much they enjoyed seeing his smile. They told him he looked lovely when he smiled, so he did it often, always desperate to hear them compliment him again. He longed to please them, longed to make them happy, just so they would lavish him with even more attention.

There was one instance when he found their father's old wristwatch. It had been missing for many, many years, and he discovered it while cleaning out underneath his messy bed. When he showed it to them, they cried tears of joy, beyond excited to see the familiar object. They even reached out and touched his arms and gave his head a pat.

That was the only time they ever made contact with him.

Because the government didn't know he existed, he didn't have to go to school. The twins taught him a few things, and he was able to watch an hour of television on their tiny, static-filled television set, so he knew the basics. He never had any wish to go to school, either, so the twins never forced him. He didn't like the idea of such a large crowd, full of unfamiliar strangers and such massive buildings and loud sounds. He liked staying indoors or just playing in their backyard. He liked listening as they read to him from that large Bible (one of the only books they owned, and the only one they loved). He liked watching soap operas that he could never understand, bringing the twins tissues when they needed them.

They didn't exactly converse much. Sure, sometimes the twins would read him a story or sometimes they would ask him for a favor, but they never actually held conversations. Some days, they barely even said anything, only a 'good morning' and a 'good night'. Never once did any of them say 'I love you'. Alfred always figured it was because they didn't ever need to. He knew they loved him, and they knew that he loved them.

He wished he could say it, though, at least once. He wanted to say that phrase, wanted to feel it come from his mouth. He just couldn't. He didn't exactly know how.

As the twins turned older and older, they would always joke about their deaths. "We were born into this world together, so we'll leave this world together," was what Thomas always said. Or Jefferson. He never did figure out which one was which. He didn't even believe they knew themselves who was who.

One day, their joking came true, though not in the form of death. Thomas (or Jefferson) happened to be walking outside, trying to pick up a fallen stick that was in her path. She fell over, though, and Jefferson (or Thomas), who was right behind her, tried helping her up. This resulted in herself also falling right beside her sister. Scared, they both cried out for help, and Alfred used their ridiculously old phone to call the hospital, which is where he learned that they both broke their hips in the exact same places and which is where the government learned that Alfred existed.

He was sent to the foster home until 'a permanent family could be located'.

With a sinking heart, he realized that the statement didn't mean it would be his real family.

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><p><strong>The next chapter is already done with (I'm actually uploading a story and working ahead?), so look forward to that sooner or later! This won't be too long of a story- five or six chapters at most. If you enjoyed it, please feel free to leave a review or something!<strong>


	2. Stuck

**I kinda-sorta had this uploaded for a week and a half, and. I. Forgot? *headdesk* I'm really sorry. I'm slowly, but surely, working on the third chapter. It won't be finished as quickly as this one was, but it's coming along! =D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. **

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><p>Upon arrival at the foster home, Gilbert instantly decided it wouldn't be as bad as he thought, especially when he saw how nice and pretty the house looked. "I thought it'd be one of those huge orphanage-like places," he muttered to the lady who owned the house, Mrs. Martin.<p>

The lady offered him a small smile. "Well, I hope you're pleased with this rather than an orphanage."

Gilbert grunted, scanning the living room. It was indeed a better place than he had imagined. Really, it just seemed like a house that would belong to a family rather than a couple who took in messed-up kids. "So, where do I place my bags?"

"Oh. Your room, of course." Mrs. Martin took one of the bags from Gilbert's hand and walked down the hallway. Gilbert followed her, glancing at the pictures on the wall. He was a bit confused, for most of them were photographs of other children, his age and younger. He made a move to ask about them, but Mrs. Martin had opened a door just then. "Right in here is where you'll be sleeping."

Gilbert looked around the room, nodding with approval and setting his bag down near a desk on the far side. "Why the bunk bed? Am I gonna be sharing?"

Mrs. Martin nodded. "Actually, yes. A boy just two years younger than you- Arthur Kirkland. He's in a bad predicament, so you'll have to take the top bunk. I'll also need you to help him out if he ever needs it, okay?"

"Sure, but what happened to the kid?"

With a frown, the lady shrugged. "You'll find out when you see him. Don't press him for questions, though. He isn't very talkative."

Inwardly, Gilbert groaned. He was stuck with a silent kid who had some sort of 'problem'. So much for a fun roommate.

When Arthur arrived, Gilbert was watching television. He had been waiting to lay eyes on the other boy, and now that he did, he let out a low whistle. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked, forgetting what Mrs. Martin told him.

Mrs. Martin, the one wheeling Arthur in the room, gave Gilbert a stern look, but he didn't take it back. He just stared at the young blonde until Mrs. Martin left, probably putting Arthur's bags in their room.

Arthur wasn't responding, so Gilbert took the chance to poke him. "You listening?" He narrowed his eyes. "What happened to your legs?"

Finally, Arthur spoke. "Why would you like to know?" he asked, his English accent quiet and out of place compared to Gilbert's louder voice.

"I dunno, I'm just interested in medical shit."

He could see Arthur contemplating what to tell him. The nervousness in the boy's eyes was all too clear, and Gilbert wondered if maybe he should have just backed off. But, he was a rude person, and quite aware of it, so he didn't mind how uncomfortable Arthur felt talking, so long as he was able to figure it out.

Arthur looked at his casts. "If you must know, I was playing football."

_You have to be fucking with me,_ Gilbert thought, rolling his eyes. "Football?"

"Yes."

"American football, right? Not soccer."

"American football."

"What position?"

This seemed to falter Arthur for a second, but he recovered and quickly said, "Quarterback."

Gilbert's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Name three other positions."

Arthur opened his mouth, but not a word came out. Gilbert knew he hadn't broken his legs playing football, especially when he was clearly no quarterback, _especially_ when he couldn't name anything other than the quarterback.

But, considering as how Gilbert was a very nice and gracious person, he decided to give this Brit one more chance. "What _really_ happened?"

"I was playing American football," Arthur insisted, though his voice grew even more soft and he refused to look up whatsoever.

Gilbert groaned, about ready to just scream and throw Arthur and his stupid wheelchair out the window. "Look, I have better things to do with my time than listen to you lie to me about how you're some big-ass football player when you don't know the first thing about it! You didn't break your legs playing football, any _dummkopf_ can see that, so if you'll excuse me, I have a show to watch." He turned away from Arthur and continued watching his strange reality show, while Arthur simply rolled himself to their room.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Arthur wished he had broken his legs playing football. At least that would mean that he'd be popular, since all the football players in school were popular. He remembered when that that Mathias bloke had been tackled in a bad position and had ended up with a fractured ankle. The girls would all leave their lipstick stains on his cast and would write 'get better soon, xoxoxo', or something along those lines, he wasn't too sure.

He glanced down at his casts, his white, boring casts. He wanted them to be marked with words of encouragement from his friends. However, he had no friends to mark them. Even his own father didn't sign his casts.

Not that Arthur wanted him to, though. Just thinking of his father made him feel nauseous. He could still see as that shiny truck rolled backwards, a sickening crunch sounding...

Slowly, he rolled his wheelchair over to the bed, staring at it. He had never shared a room with anyone, especially not someone so annoying as a loud-mouthed German. He really wasn't looking forward to this, not one bit. _If my mother knew,_ he thought, tightening his hands around the plaid sheets. If his mother knew, she'd come and care for him.

"Arthur!" Mrs. Martin strolled right on into the room, an apron around her waist and smiling brightly. "Arthur, it's time to eat dinner. Come along."

Frankly, Arthur wasn't really hungry at the moment, but he couldn't very well refuse. He knew he had to eat, even if he didn't want to. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, following her to the kitchen.

Gilbert was already seated, looking more than impatient. "Geez, you guys are slowpokes," he commented bitterly, stabbing into his green beans once Arthur had a place at the table. "The food would have gotten cold if you left me waiting any longer."

Mrs. Martin shot him another stern look but didn't reprimand him for his behavior. Arthur assumed this was because it was their first night here, first night living together. She probably didn't want to make enemies. Besides, she had explained to him that Gilbert had come from an uncaring environment, that he just took his anger out on whoever was closest to him. Arthur didn't pry into the reasoning behind Gilbert's home life, but he knew he'd have to take a few jabs if he continued living here.

The other boy came after supper. Arthur hadn't been expecting such a small child, considering he and Gilbert were both teenagers, but this was indeed just a little boy. He looked nervous as they moved his bags into the spare room, eyes darting from Gilbert to Arthur.

The German smirked. "Ah, we got ourselves a youngster, Arthur. Hey, kid, what's your name?"

The boy swallowed. "A-Alfred." He stared down at the ground as Mrs. Martin patted his back comfortingly. "Alfred F."

Arthur blinked. "What does the F. stand for?" he asked out of sheer curiosity.

His words caused Gilbert to whistle. "Ah, so you _don't_ have to be prompted to talk, Artie."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur focused his attention on Alfred, who shrugged. "I...I dunno. The twins always said the F. was for the fun of it."

"The twins?" Gilbert dangled his feet over the side of the chair that he was seated in. "What twins?"

"Thomas and Jefferson."

For once, Gilbert couldn't say anything, and Arthur smiled at the silence that fell. Alfred didn't seem to think anything was wrong with the names, and this caused Arthur to suddenly feel like he needed to protect this small boy, especially from Gilbert, who would probably tease the kid relentlessly. He didn't know the situation from which Alfred had come from, but he could only guess it wasn't all fine and dandy, since he was in a foster home after all.

"They took care of you?" Arthur asked quietly. Once again, Gilbert glanced over at him.

Alfred simply nodded. "Yeah. They named me, too."

"What happened to them?" This was Gilbert, apparently giving an attempt to get the kid to like him. The two older boys glared at each other as Alfred answered nervously.

"W-Well, Thomas fell and...no, I think Jefferson fell first. One of them fell and broke her hip, and the other tried picking her up, but she-"

This snapped the two boys from their staring contest. "Hold up!" Gilbert sat straighter, blinking wildly. "_Girls?_" Alfred nodded. "Girls named Thomas and Jefferson?" Alfred nodded. Gilbert stared for a few more seconds before shaking his head. "Damn, we're a crazy group of kids. We got one boy with she-men twins who cared for him and another boy who thinks he was a quarterback in American football."

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Well, apparently, you're a 'crazy', too," he growled.

"Yeah, but I'm crazy in a good way."

"And, how's that?"

Gilbert grinned, showing perfectly white teeth, which just made Arthur angry all over again. "I'm awesome."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Alfred, though nervous to be living with two older boys, was nonetheless excited. He had never been around people like this before. They both treated him kindly, too, allowing him to pick what station he wanted to watch on the television. Unfortunately, he didn't know any stations so he found that he couldn't decide. Gilbert, instead of being angry, simply mussed his hair and switched it to some show with people singing.

"Don't interrupt," the German boy said, apparently addressing both of them. However, his gaze traveled to Arthur and he smirked. "I know how talkative you can be."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Really, now," he muttered dryly. "I do wonder whatever gave you that idea."

Gilbert winked, a grin returning to his face at Arthur's sarcasm. "I have my suspicions that you can be a very talkative guy when you want to, Kirkland."

"Don't get your hopes up." Arthur drummed his fingers along the armrest of his wheelchair, not really paying much attention to the show, Alfred noticed.

The younger boy suddenly piped up, figuring he ought to break the tensions. "I've seen this show before."

"Have you?" Gilbert faced him with some sort of amusement in his face.

Alfred kicked his feet against the sofa, nodding happily, noticing that both the boys were now staring at him. "Y-Yeah. The twins and I used to watch it at night." He suddenly wished he hadn't said that. It gave him a wave of homesickness, and he longed to be back with them. He longed to be sitting in their living room as they sewed and knitted and watched random shows. Sure, maybe this place wouldn't be as bad as he thought, since everyone seemed pretty nice to him, but he still wasn't certain he wanted to be away from the twins.

In the midst of his thinking, he nearly missed Gilbert's next question. "So, you enjoy it much?"

Alfred nodded excitedly, pushing the twins out of his mind for now. Gilbert was talking to him and treating him like an equal. "Yep! There's lots of singing and it's funny."

He noticed Arthur smile, and realized he liked the blonde teen a lot better when he smiled. "What happened to your legs?" he asked, turning his attention away from Gilbert.

"I...I, uh..." Arthur turned red and scratched his neck.

Worried that he had upset Arthur, Alfred quickly said, "I don't need to know! I'm sorry, though. I hope they get better. The twins broke their hips, so they have to wear these things along their hips to make it heal faster." He realized he was talking about the twins again, and bit his lip. He needed to stop thinking about them. The thoughts just made him sad and upset.

Arthur, still a bit red, muttered, "It's okay. I just..."

"He broke them playing football. _American_ football."

Alfred blinked. He had never met a real football player before. "Wow, really?"

Instead of instantly agreeing or looking tough, Arthur seemed to shy away even more. "Th-That's not...I mean, it wasn't...it wasn't much, I promise." He didn't look anyone in the eye, which Alfred found rather odd.

"No, it was a lot," Gilbert continued, nodding solemnly. A lot of what, Alfred didn't know, but if Gilbert said it was a lot, then it was a lot.

"How did you break them?" Alfred asked, staring at Arthur with wide, blue eyes.

The young Briton clenched his fists on top of his knees. "I told you, it-"

"He was playing quarterback," Gilbert replied for him, sighed dramatically. "Horrible position, really. I mean, look at him, Alfie. Look how good of a quarterback he made. You see it?"

Alfred didn't exactly know what he was looking at but, for the sake of seeming older and more mature, he nodded. "Yeah."

Arthur glared at Gilbert. "I thought you wanted to watch your show," he hissed, irritation clearly etched upon his face. The older teen held up his hands in surrender.

"All right, all right, don't get your panties in a knot." With one last grin, Gilbert turned back to the television, resting his head back on the couch. "Shush, this is where she sings that high note."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Gilbert really wasn't sure what he wanted out of life anymore. His dream was to become a doctor, just because he was interested in the medical aspect of things, but he didn't know if he could do that. His grades were never the best and he really hated school. Did he honestly want to go to college, which seemed just like another high school? Did he really want to have to stay up late, studying constantly for exams and whatnot?

The partying stories he always heard about turned his dreams of college into a fun, exciting place, but when he was faced with reality, it wasn't fun. It was tedious work.

Then there was the whole fact that he was stuck _here_, in a foster home, until he was old enough to move away and start his own life, which he couldn't do until he had the money and until he turned eighteen. The latter was sure to happen, but as for the former...well, he never owned more than $50 in his entire life.

Laying on the top bunk of his bed and staring up at the ceiling, he wondered what to do, how to get through this.

"Gilbert?" Mrs. Martin came into the room. "You've retired early. Arthur and Alfred are still watching television. Don't you want to join them?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Nah. I'm too awesome for that Andy Griffith show. Figures that both those weirdos would find something in common, and it figures that that something happens to be the worst show ever created."

Mrs. Martin chuckled, stepping farther into the room. "I know how you feel."

Instantly knowing what she was referring to, Gilbert shook his head. "No, you don't."

"Believe me, Gilbert, I do. I've had many foster children throughout the years, you've seen the pictures lining the walls. All seventeen of them were scared when they came here. First night was always the hardest, they told me." When Gilbert didn't respond, she smiled. "It _will_ get better. I promise."

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," Gilbert muttered, turning his head away from her. "It won't get better."

"Gilbert-"

The German boy groaned. "I was sent here because Step-Father #3 hit me and gave me a concussion. Why? Because I was sick of him ordering me around constantly and mocking me for having a lack of friends. My mom always told me that life would get better, but it never did. It stayed the exact same stupid life as it had always been. And, in the end, when Step-Father #3 was bullying me, when he was teasing me, she looked away, and when he hit me, she didn't come to my defense." He snorted, shifting in his bed. "Life won't get better. Even for someone as awesome as me."

Mrs. Martin was silent for a second, before she said, "Gilbert, all seventeen of those kids are doing well right now. They still write to me. Most of them are grown, but there's still three in college. They're happy, Gilbert. Everything worked out for them. It'll work out for you."

She waited for a response, and when she received none, she sighed. "Things will be better tomorrow. You'll see." With that, she left the room, and Gilbert finally faced the doorway once more, waiting for his new roommate to come to bed.

He could always run away.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Arthur felt tired by the time Alfred declared himself done watching television and went to his room. Left with boredom, the young Englishman had wheeled himself into his shared room, where he felt Gilbert's eyes watching him. "Hello," he greeted curtly, nodding to the albino.

"Hiya." Gilbert propped himself up on an elbow and watched as Arthur stopped right near the bed. "Finally decided to go to sleep?"

"Yes." Arthur looked up. "I'm quite exhausted. It's been a long day."

Gilbert nodded. "I can agree with you on that." Laying back in bed, he listened as Arthur pulled himself out of the wheelchair with a grunt. "Hey, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Without any sort of hesitation, Arthur replied, "A writer." He landed on the bed with a soft plop, giving a sigh of relief that he was able to do something by himself. "Why? What would you like to be?"

He barely heard Gilbert's muffled response. "Maybe a doctor. I dunno."

"Aren't you in college yet?" Arthur asked, closing his eyes and stifling a yawn.

"Mm, no. Still in high school. Well, I was. Not sure now, what with it being summer and all."

"Well, will you still be in high school next year?"

"You're talkative tonight, Kirkland. And, I shouldn't be, but...with my grades, ya never know."

Arthur wanted to retort with some witty remark, but he was much too tired to even considering saying anything intelligent. "Oh. Well, I do hope you pass."

It was quiet for a few minutes before Gilbert whispered, "Thanks, Kirkland."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Alfred swallowed nervously. He was used to sleeping alone. He actually couldn't remember ever sleeping with anyone else. Even with the twins, he always had his own room and his own bed. This wasn't anything new to him.

However, it wasn't _home_. It was just a plain room, a room that had probably belonged to many other boys before him. He felt scared and lonely. He wanted someone to be near him, to be with him. He wanted those two older boys, or kind Mrs. Martin, but he didn't want to call out. Though they told him to shout if he needed anything, he just couldn't bring himself to do so.

After all, he never shouted for the twins. He could handle this.

He sniffed, grabbing onto his pillow to stop the sounds of his cries from making it across the hall.

He could handle this.

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><p><strong>Any ideas, reviews, comments, questions, whatever, feel free to contact me or just leave a little 'review' on my review page. It needs more love, you guys. XP<strong>

**And, thank you guys who have already favorited/alerted this story. A double thanks to those who left reviews! Love you guys! *MWAH***


	3. Protest

**Considering I haven't updated in, like, a month, I bring you guys an extra long chapter! I'm actually really pleased with the reviews/favorites/alerts this story is getting- my audience will never cease to bring smiles to my face! :D  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.  
><strong>

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><p>Gilbert clearly remembered Career Day at his elementary school. Though his parents had both refused to come in and help (his step-dad, ironically enough, had work and his mother was doing whatever it was that his mother did), he was nonetheless excited. He knew from previous experiences that Career Day was another way of saying "No classes for the rest of the day", and so long as he was able to skip his Language Arts class, he was one happy kid.<p>

Of course, none of the careers even remotely interested him. There was one guy who worked at a construction site, a girl who fixed televisions, and another man who sold houses as a living. Gilbert had been expecting superheroes or actors or dancers, not normal people.

The only fun part of the day was when a doctor came up to speak. She even had a presentation with her, a video of how exactly a doctor's job is very beneficial. Most of the kids were disgusted at the work that she had to go through, but Gilbert found himself oddly fascinated. It wasn't the blood, it wasn't the sharp objects, it was just the sheer knowledge that a doctor could save someone's life.

He always wanted to save someone's life.

From that moment on, he made it his dream to become a doctor. He read up about medical situations, volunteered at the hospital downtown, and watched all those drama television shows he could (and, no, he did _not_ cry when the pretty girl doctor became blind, not at all).

Granted, his dreams were kind of crushed anytime he finished a year of school and received his final grades. He would always frown at the large 'C' or 'D' that seemed to take up the entire report card. He could never get a straight A, could he? Not in any subject. Not even science, which he knew was needed if he wanted to go into a medical career.

And once he finished senior year, he realized he could probably never make his dreams into reality, not with his sort of intelligence. He _knew_ he was smart. He knew that, should the colleges give him a chance, he could easily pass and become an incredible doctor, but he also knew not to have false hope. Colleges weren't looking for people who were struggling. They were looking for successful students, students who could pay their way through the four years and then some, students that, by some stroke of luck or utter genius, aced every single test thrown their way.

They weren't looking for Gilbert.

Being in the foster home made him think more on his future, think more about what it was exactly that he was supposed to do with his life. He couldn't become a doctor, obviously, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe an assistant? He could help out as the doctor preformed miracles, just stand by and watch, watch the doctor complete what Gilbert had always longed to do.

No. If he wasn't going to become a doctor, he wouldn't be anything in the medical field. Maybe McDonald's had an opening.

That thought stayed with him for a while, especially when Mr. Martin brought home some McDonald's after his work.

Alfred was overjoyed about this. "Gil!" he cried, running into the room of the older two boys. "Mr. Martin brought home McDonald's!"

Gilbert, reading a book on the top bunk, couldn't see Arthur's expression, but he heard the loud groan. "Really? McDonald's makes such fatty burgers, though! They're unhealthy and disgusting and I doubt what they use is even real meat. Furthermore, the buns-"

"Can it, Eyebrows," Gilbert muttered, bringing his head down over the bunk bed to glare at Arthur, who happened to be writing something at their desk. "Food is food, and you're certainly not going to just sit here and starve all night, are you?" Arthur glanced up, muttering something under his breath that Gilbert really couldn't understand, so the albino turned to Alfred. "So, we just come and eat whenever?"

"Yep!" Arthur's ridicule didn't seem to faze Alfred one bit. The boy was still looking as happy as the sun. "Mr. Martin said once everyone's seated, we're all gonna eat! I love McDonald's!"

"Did the twins always buy you some?" Gilbert asked, climbing off his bed. "I thought they were too old to go out and grab some fast food."

"And I thought they were too old to eat it," Arthur grumbled, wheeling himself away from the desk. "Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't give them a heart attack."

Sensing Alfred's cheery mood weakening, Gilbert smacked the back of Arthur's head, ignoring the complaints from the younger teenager.

Alfred shrugged. "We always ate McDonald's on Sunday. Our bible group would pick some up for us."

"Bible groups eat McDonald's?" Gilbert blinked. "Huh. I would have thought they'd all be like, 'No, McDonald's is from the devil, and it'll kill us all!'"

Arthur actually snorted at this, a small smile forming on his face. "Gilbert, that's rather offensive to the boy, don't you think?"

"You seemed to like it," Gilbert shot back, effectively wiping the smile away. No matter, frowns looked much more natural on the blonde kid, anyway.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

There wasn't exactly a reason as to why Arthur hated McDonald's so much. Yes it was fatty, but it wasn't _all_ too bad. It was more so that he just loved KFC far too much to even admit taking a liking to another fast food. Especially McDonald's.

"I'm surprised you're even eating it, what with all the fuss you put up," Gilbert commented as Arthur took tentative bites of his burger.

Mr. Martin looked a bit concerned. He was an older man with a graying mustache and barely any hair, a serious face to match his professor-like appearance. Much different than his wife, who seemed rather bubbly and happy all the time. "Er...Arthur, did I make a wrong choice of food?"

Arthur wasn't meaning to upset Mr. Martin, so he quickly shook his head. "N-No, you didn't. I just don't normally eat McDonald's, that's all. KFC was where I got my meals." And it really was. KFC, hardly any home cooking. He was surprised he hadn't grown tired of it.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Mr. Martin fell silent for a few seconds, then glanced at Arthur once more. "I'm taking Alfred to see the twins in a week or two. Would you like it if we picked up some KFC on the way home?"

The offer was so generous and kind that Arthur really wanted to tear up. No one had ever asked whether or not he wanted KFC. He only ever picked it up himself. "That would be great," he responded quietly, now determined to finish off the rest of his hamburger so Mr. Martin would see that he wasn't going to be picky and rude. Even if he wanted to, he wasn't. That was Gilbert's job.

Well, the rude part was, anyway. Gilbert seemed to be eating what was laid in front of him, seemingly uncaring of where it came from. Same with Alfred, although that was to be expected of a young boy.

"So," Mrs. Martin beamed at the others, obviously looking for a conversation-starter. "Um, how are you boys enjoying your summer so far?"

Arthur looked down at his legs, wondering if she meant to say that or if she just wasn't thinking. He wasn't enjoying his summer, not one bit. His legs were ruined and he was stuck in a foster home. Too shy to voice his true opinions, however, he gave a simple shrug.

Gilbert was the one who told her off. "Hm, let's see...Step-Father #3 gave me a concussion, my mom doesn't give a shit about me anymore, if she ever did, I'm stuck in a foster home with no real family, I don't think I'm going to be able to ever attend college 'cause I'm really not that smart and, oh, just to top it all off perfectly, I don't even turn eighteen until January and I was forced to watch as my high school classmates all got sweet birthday presents and, naturally, I won't get a fucking thing." He glared at Mrs. Martin from across the table, who stared right back. "Summer is peachy, thank you very much for asking."

The two stared at each other for a few minutes before the older lady turned on Alfred, who had been watching Gilbert's rant curiously. "What about you, Alfred?"

The boy grinned. "Fine. I get to see the twins soon, and they're gonna be happy to know that I'm safe. Plus, I got McDonald's."

Arthur marveled at the fact that this child was really only focusing on the good things in his life. He noticed Gilbert's surprise, too, for the albino's eyes widened momentarily before he turned back to his Big Mac.

"Well, that does sound like a good summer, Alfred," Mrs. Martin replied, giving him a warm smile. "I'm glad you're happy." As she said this, she sent a wink over to Gilbert who rolled his eyes.

Arthur decided that now could be his moment to speak up, to explain how he felt. "My...my father was..." Oh, great. Just as everyone turned their eyes on him, his entire throat clogged up. He wanted to explain exactly what happened to his legs, wanted to tell everyone the truth and quit skulking around in lies, but he found that he couldn't. Not yet, at least. "My father always let me buy KFC," he muttered lamely, staring down at the table. "That's why I like it so much." It had nothing to do with the conversation, but at least it wasn't a full-out lie.

Everyone else around the table stared at him with blank gazes. He could tell they weren't exactly sure what to make of his random statement. Finally, Mrs. Martin broke the silence, giving Arthur a smile. "That's nice," she said. Her smile was warm and Arthur remembered that she and Mr. Martin actually knew about his relationship with his father. He probably didn't have to tip-toe around them so much. What was he afraid of? Gilbert had obviously come from a rotten environment, so he would understand, and Alfred was young and innocent enough to only offer comforting words, so why couldn't he just come out and tell everyone?

He sighed, glaring down at his food.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Alfred had never met someone as different as Gilbert. The only people the twins surrounded themselves with were other quiet ladies, ladies that never cursed or raised their voices, ladies who hardly gave Alfred any sort of attention. He recalled one of them saying something like, "Children should be seen, not heard," and so he kept his mouth shut during their little Bible groups.

Gilbert, therefore, was new and interesting. He openly said words that Alfred never even heard of before, and sometimes he said words that Alfred knew were bad. He was loud and very rude. He was a little bit mean sometimes, but Alfred could see the kind glint in the albino's eyes.

Whatever brought him here, however horribly he acted, Alfred found himself drawn to his expressive personality.

Then there was Arthur. Arthur the football player. Arthur the grump. Alfred loved everything about Arthur. He liked the caring personality the Brit held for him, he liked the fuzzy eyebrows above his dark, green eyes, he liked the rich accent he spoke with, and he liked his quiet nature. He was the complete opposite of Gilbert and Alfred _still_ found himself enjoying Arthur's company.

He wondered if it was just because he had never really met people like this before.

Wanting to be part of the conversation a bit more, he decided to speak up. "I like KFC, too!" he exclaimed cheerfully, grinning up at Arthur. "'Cept, I like McDonald's more. We didn't really have KFC much." He frowned, looking a bit thoughtful. "They serve the chicken, right?"

"Yes." Arthur nodded, staring at Alfred as he sipped his water. "Chicken and biscuits and mashed potatoes and that sort."

Alfred nodded. "Yep, I've gotten KFC from one of the Bible ladies. It was good, but they didn't let me eat all that much."

"Why?" Gilbert joined in on the conversation, looking interested.

"I dunno. They told me that little boys shouldn't eat that much."

Gilbert slammed his fist into the table, though he looked more amused than angry. "You should have protested!" he exclaimed. "You should have told them that you need your food, that you deserve all the KFC you want!"

Excited by Gilbert's outburst, Alfred nodded, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah! But, uh, what's protesting?"

With a sigh, Arthur muttered, "It's when you speak out against something that you see to be unfair. You could make a speech or wave picket signs or..." He gave a chuckle. "Anything, really, just as long as you state your reasons as to why it's unfair."

Alfred blinked. "So, if I made a speech about KFC, they'd let me have more?" He really liked that idea. Maybe he could pull out a protest here, when they did something he didn't exactly like. Which had yet to happen, but there was always a first for everything.

"Maybe." Arthur rolled his wheelchair away from the table, clearly finished eating his burger. "I wouldn't bet on it, though. Protests are usually supported by many people, not just one boy."

"Oh." Alfred looked a tad disappointed, but then realized that, since he didn't even live with the twins anymore, it didn't matter very much. "We should have a protest here."

Gilbert grinned. "Hell yeah!" he cried, glancing over at the Martins. "So long as they don't mind us parading throughout their house, screaming, 'More television time, more television time!'"

Alfred giggled at this, relieved to see that the Martins weren't angry. Instead, they were also smiling. "Maybe you boys can do that one day," Mrs. Martin said, standing up to start clearing the table. "Just so long as you aren't too loud and you don't ruin anything, I think a protest is perfectly acceptable. Don't you, Roy?"

Alfred didn't know who Roy was at first, but then Mr. Martin spoke up. "Of course. I could find some cardboard and they could use that as their signs. Any idea what you guys might be protesting, though?"

The table fell silent, save for the clambering of silverware and plates as Mrs. Martin began cleaning up. "It has to be something awesome," Gilbert muttered. "I mean, more television time would be great, but that isn't awesome enough."

Alfred finished off the last of his drink before handing the cup over to Mrs. Martin. "How about we protest for a big playground?"

"Nah, there's a park just down the street with a big playground. Besides, this house has a sandbox and a slide and some swings, so I think we're good on playgrounds." Gilbert rubbed his chin. "Any ideas, Artie?"

Arthur smirked. "More KFC," he replied sarcastically, earning himself an amused laugh from Mr. Martin.

Gilbert snorted. "And your funny side strikes again. Quite impressive, Eyebrows." This nickname caused Arthur to groan, but everyone just ignored it. "How 'bout you, Alfie? Got any bright ideas?"

Alfred loved the thought of planning a protest, so he wanted to say something that would be truly awesome in Gilbert's eyes. "H-How about we protest...protest our families?" The laughter and teasing in the room stopped, and now it was really filled with silence. Alfred's cheeks flushed as he felt all eyes on him.

"What do you mean by that?" Arthur asked kindly, his searching gaze making Alfred feel a little more than embarrassed.

"W-Well...I mean, my family never cared about me. I never had a mom or a dad, 'cause they didn't want me. I...I wanna protest that." Alfred bit his lip and looked away, trying to block out their stares.

Gilbert was the first to break the silence. "Let's do that," he muttered, his voice actually soft for once. "I'll...yeah, we can start planning whenever." Without another word, he stood and walked off, leaving Alfred worried that he somehow, someway, upset the feelings of everyone in the room.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

With a sigh, Gilbert dug his bare foot into the heated sand in the sandbox. "This feels nice," he commented. "I like the little grains of sand running between my toes, slightly scratchy yet overly soft." He glanced up at the other two boys, neither of which replied. "Seriously? I just went extremely poetic on the both of you, and you just give me the cold shoulder? Really, how unawesome."

"If that was your poetic side, I'd hate to see the non-poetic side," Arthur muttered, currently busy writing something down on the sheets of notebook paper Mr. Martin had given the boys. Something about a letter. For Arthur, anyway, as Alfred seemed to be drawing a picture.

Gilbert snorted. "So cruel, Artie," he replied, putting a hand to his chest in mock pain. "You wound my heart."

"Lovely."

Gilbert just rolled his eyes and went back to his sand. "I'm making a froggy house," he stated. "In case any of you are interested. Look, during the night, a frog will come and live in this here house. He'll get married and have babies and they'll all be forever grateful for such an awesome place to live." When he didn't receive and answer, Gilbert tore his foot away from the sand and stalked over to both of them. "Look, I'm _so_ bored, 'kay? Can't you guys pay attention to me?"

Arthur didn't look up from his letter and Alfred didn't even seem to hear the older teen. "If you're so bored, why not go watch the telly?" the young Brit asked, writing furiously. "You seem so enamored by the blasted thing. Surely you couldn't have gotten bored of it just yet."

It was clear, though, that Gilbert was indeed bored of his precious television. "Nuh-uh. I wanna do something fun, with you guys. Nothing good is on, anyway."

Alfred suddenly stuffed his paper into Gilbert's hands, a little blush covering his cheeks. "I made this for you," he whispered, swallowing nervously as he looked away. Gilbert took the paper with surprise, only to find his heart shatter into a million pieces. Written in very messy scrawl were the words, "Im Sory," along with some sort of dog drawn in dull pencil lead.

"What are you sorry 'bout, kid?" the German boy asked, ruffling Alfred's hair in a desperate attempt not to suddenly burst into tears at the child's innocence and kind gesture. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I...I made you upset yesterday," Alfred mumbled, playing with his fingers. "I didn't mean to."

Throwing away all attempts to be the 'cool' guy of the foster home, he gathered Alfred up in a large hug. "No, I wasn't mad," he assured, closing his eyes. "I didn't mean to make it seem that way. I was just a bit...I dunno, a bit upset at the way we've all been treated." When he opened his eyes, he noticed Arthur watching them with a sad expression. He mustered a smile at the blonde teenager, who actually smiled back.

When Alfred drew away, he looked considerably brighter than before, though Gilbert could still see a bit of the anxiety remaining. "So, um...do you like the dog I drew for you?"

"It's awesome!" Gilbert exclaimed, giving a grin to show how pleased he was. "Hey, but your spelling's a bit off. Didn't those twins teach you how to write?"

"They taught me some stuff," Alfred replied, returning Gilbert's smile. "But I never went to school, so I don't know how to do any of this."

Gilbert gave a low whistle. "Man, you're gonna be a year or two behind all the other kids. Hey, but no worries!" He felt bad for saying that since Alfred now looked self-conscious. "The awesome me will help you get back on track. Artie, grab us a sheet of the paper, will you? I'm gonna teach this kid how to be the best in his class."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

When Arthur had originally settled down on this little bench outside, he had all the intentions of writing a letter to his mom. He didn't exactly mind the people in the foster home (though Gilbert did take some getting used to), but he wanted to actually be in the care of a parent. Not his father, for obvious reasons. No, he needed his mom. He needed her to be there and look over him, tell him everything's all right.

Then his mind went blank. What was he supposed to write? 'Hi Mom. My legs are broken because my excuse of a father couldn't control his liquor and decided to drive right over me. Also, I'm now stuck in a foster home until my father gets his act together, and we know that will never work, so please come and pick me up? Please?'

Yeah. Right. He couldn't very well say all that.

So he just sat there, motionless, listening to Alfred scribble away at some apology note he was going to give to Gilbert. He really wanted to write _something_. He just needed to somehow vent, and this paper seemed like the perfect way to do so.

Very slowly, he had written, "Things I wanted but never received".

It was a list. He never really made many lists before, but he was already enjoying himself. Especially considering he never asked for much and when he did, he really, _really_ wanted those things. 90% of what he wanted he never received. Maybe the same could be said about both the other boys at the foster home, maybe even thousands of boys around the world, but Arthur wasn't writing for them. He was writing for himself.

Shortly after Gilbert started up his 'awesome tutoring lessons' with Alfred, Arthur finished the list, staring at it proudly. Until it was snatched from his hands.

"What's this?" Gilbert asked, looking at the title. "I thought you were writing a letter." He glanced at Arthur to see the flushed cheeks of the Englishman, then turned his eyes back down to the paper. "'Things I wanted but never received,'" he read, looking interested. "It's a list?"

"Obviously," Alfred muttered, not sure if he wanted Gilbert to be reading that, especially not out loud.

Of course, Gilbert never really took other people's feelings into consideration. If he did, he wouldn't exactly be Gilbert. "Number one- a typewriter." He blinked. "A typewriter? Why?"

Arthur wanted to curl up and die of embarrassment. "I wanted to write stories," he replied, scratching at the back of his neck. "My hands would get tired after a bit, though, and sometimes I wouldn't be able to read what I wrote."

"Hm." Gilbert nodded. "I can see you as an author. Moving on." Now with Alfred giving the list his full attention as well, Arthur felt as if all his wishes were on public display. However, he made no move to take his paper back. "Number two- a dog. Really? I can't picture you as a dog person."

"Yes, well...I've always wanted one. My mother promised she'd buy one for me, but...ah..." He couldn't very well speak without mentioning his whole situation, so he decided to just shrug it off. "Never happened."

Gilbert blinked, handing the list back and obviously not ready to read anymore. "Family troubles, huh." He sighed, turning around to face Alfred. "Guess we all got some of that. We really should start a protest. Parents need to learn not to be shitheads to their children. Alfred, write that down- Parents need to learn not to be shitheads to their children."

"Stop cursing in front of the kid, Gilbert,"Arthur grumbled, taking another sheet of paper to begin another list.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Alfred had been overly relieved when Gilbert started helping him with spelling. Though the twins taught him the basics, he knew there was something wrong with his education level. It wasn't that he was dumb, it was just that he didn't learn enough.

Besides, Gilbert made him feel really special. He didn't get mad at him when he continuously messed up- he guided him in the right direction and, when Alfred finally succeeded, he praised him and called him awesome. Each time, Alfred grinned.

After a few hours of the three boys sitting out on the same bench, Gilbert finally declared that he was going to go make lunch for everyone. "I'll ask Mrs. Martin if she has any sandwiches or something. Women always make good sandwiches."

"That's sexist, Gilbert," Arthur muttered, still hunched over his paper.

"It's also a joke. Geez, lighten up, Eyebrows." With a wink sent toward Alfred, Gilbert all but skipped back toward the house.

Wanting to please his self-proclaimed 'awesome' tutor, Alfred took his own sheet of paper and began writing. He was determined to spell all the words right this time, determined to make himself out to be the intelligent young lad he knew he was. "Here, Arthur," he said, handing the finished sentence over to the teenager beside him.

"Hm? What's this?" Arthur took it and read over it silently, a smile forming on his face. "Why, thank you, Alfred! This...this is real sweet." He looked at the younger boy, something unreadable on his face (Alfred was never one for deciphering expressions). "And the spelling is perfect, too. You outdid yourself on this."

Not sure whether to say 'you're welcome' for the gratitude or 'thanks' for the compliments, Alfred settled on something in between. "No problem!" That was really the only thing he could say at the moment, for Gilbert returned with a plate of sandwiches.

Once the plate was plopped down on the table, Gilbert clapped his hands together. "Mrs. Martin told me to make it myself, that she wouldn't have me speaking to her in such a rude tone, so here we are- peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Enjoy, my friends!" He sat down, grinning at his creations, while Arthur just passed the sheet of paper over to him.

Gilbert quickly read through it and gathered Alfred into a tight hug. "Aw, Alfie, you sweet little boy, you! How did you ever get such a nice idea like that one? And, hey, you learned something- no spelling mistakes! 'I hope you feel better'- as perfect as the sun, Alife!"

Alfred giggled in Gilbert's grasp, and somehow managed to turn his gaze on Arthur. "Did I make you upset?" he asked worriedly, hoping he wasn't the reason for those sudden tears in Arthur's eyes.

"N-No." Arthur wiped his face, turning away. "I'm just so touched by your gift, that's all."

Alfred removed himself from Gilbert to wrap his arms around as much as Arthur as he could without touching his cast-clad legs. "I do hope you feel better soon, though," he said. "I don't like it when people are hurt. Like, the twins are hurt and I don't like it, but everyone will get better, 'specially you. You're too nice and funny to stay hurt."

If anything, this seemed to bring even more tears to Arthur, and they finally started trailing down his cheek as he returned Alfred's hug, unable to speak.

"Hey, if we're having a hug session, Gilbert needs to make it more awesome!" Gilbert exclaimed loudly, latching himself onto Arthur's other side.

Alfred smiled as he saw Arthur's face light up at the attention he was earning, and the young boy hugged even tighter, suddenly happy with his entire situation and unwilling to change a thing about it.

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><p><strong>Yeah, I really do apologize for the long wait. Hopefully this made it up. And...we're already halfway done. Yes, I'm only planning for this story to have six chapters. I'm still unsure of whether or not you guys will enjoy the ending...we'll see when it comes up. XD ALSO. I only edited this fic once (I always miss mistakes), so if you guys see anything wrong, please let me know! =D<br>**

**If you liked this, please leave a review! They make me so happy, you wouldn't even believe.  
><strong>


	4. Love

**Thank you to all the people who are reviewing this or adding it to their alerts/favorites! I really love reading what everyone has to say about this. I hope you guys are sticking with me, despite my terrible updating skills (I'm a pro at procrastination).  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.  
><strong>

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><p>"And then you put your needle under there- almost, just...ah, perfect!" Mrs. Martin gave Gilbert one of her extra warm grins. "You're getting the hang of this, Gilbert!"<p>

Gilbert returned the grin with the same amount of enthusiasm. "Hell yeah I am! Artie, you paying any attention to this? I'm learning how to _knit_!" He was, for some reason, positively gleeful about that fact. He wanted this to become a hobby. He wanted to knit scarves and socks and sweaters for the rest of his life. It was a hobby and, other than watching television, he had never had a hobby before. He wasn't even talented with anything. This was... "Awesome." Gilbert shook his head in wonder. "Who would have ever thought that I, the great Gilbert Beilschmidt , would ever learn to knit?"

As usual, Arthur couldn't very well let a potential mocking opportunity go to waste, even if he himself enjoyed needlework. "I'm shocked you even managed to learn."

"Ooh, so Mr. Prim and Proper is raining on my parade? 'Bout time, kid, I thought you lost the use of your mouth as well as your legs. You were just watching me silently like...like some mute guy or something."

Arthur rolled his eyes, though Gilbert was pleased to note that he looked amused at their bantering. "Only because you were talking a mile a minute. I couldn't get a word in to save my life."

The German teen cackled cheerfully at this. "Speak up then, Kirkland. You Brits are always so silent."

"We speak normally," Arthur replied. "It's the Germans who are loud enough to put Americans to shame."

Gilbert put a hand to his chest dramatically. "That was quite a low blow. Ouch."

"Alright boys, that's enough." Mrs. Martin stood from her spot at the table, gathering the knitting supplies. "Why don't you two go outside and get some fresh air? It's a gorgeous day."

Gilbert, always one to be sarcastically expressive, gasped. "You're allowing the slave of the world a break? Well, the slave is sure to take you up on that offer!" He, too, got up from his seat. "I'll take Artie to the library. He looks like a book nerd and I really wanna see if they have any books about pretty nurses."

Mrs. Martin hesitated. "Well, I'm not so sure if you could handle his wheelchair, Gilbert."

However, Arthur turned to her, his green eyes pleading. "Please? I'd really appreciate it."

"I'll keep tight hands on his wheelchair and make sure he doesn't fall on the way. Honestly, I'm seventeen! I can handle a tiny thing like Arthur!" Gilbert joined in on the pleading. "Please, Mrs. Martin? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

When Mrs. Martin sighed in defeat, both boys grinned. "Fine, fine, you two may go to the library. Gilbert, you be _very_ careful with that wheelchair, you hear? No fighting, either one of you, and come back by suppertime."

Gilbert saluted. "I got ya, Mrs. Martin! Thanks a bunch!"

As they headed toward the library, Gilbert sighed, his arms already becoming tired. "Why does the library have to be on a fucking _hill_?" he grunted, pushing the wheelchair slowly.

Arthur shrugged.

"Hey, wouldn't it be hilarious if, like, we put one of those dummies in your wheelchair and let it roll down the hill? I would run after it screaming, 'he got away, he got away!' and Mrs. Martin would totally freak."

"I don't think that would be very funny at all."

"Hmph. Party pooper." Gilbert groaned now, wishing the library was closer. "Know what's sad, Artie?"

"What?"

Glancing up at the sky, Gilbert replied, "The fact that I actually wanna leave Mr. and Mrs. Martin. The fact that I wish I could go and live with my mother again. I mean, obviously the woman hates me. And Step-Dad Number Three hates me. You know that she's still married to the bastard?" He scoffed. "He punched me. He knocked me out and he messed with my head and I let him get to me, but...she should have been there to stop it, you know? She should have butted in all those times she heard him say that I'm unloved, that I'm good for nothing, that the world would be better if I never existed. Yet, I still want to go back." It was silent for a second, and Gilbert realized then that he had told his secret, the one he didn't want to tell anyone. And it actually felt really good. Smiling, he continued. "I'm pretty pathetic, aren't I?"

Arthur slowly shook his head. "No," he muttered. "No, you aren't pathetic."

"Eh, you're just saying that. Thanks anyways, kid."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

They continued their walk and Arthur found himself feeling like was about to explode. Suddenly, he wanted to talk. Gilbert had told him his secrets, and Arthur just wanted to respond. He wanted to get it all off his chest. "I didn't break my legs playing American football. My father ran over them."

Gilbert stopped rolling the wheelchair. "'Scuse me?"

"It was an accident," Arthur continued, picking at the armrest. "He said he didn't see me. He was supposed to drive me to pick up an award for an essay I wrote. I would get twenty dollars. But he was drunk that night and told me to get out of the car. When I refused, he yanked me out and threw me on the ground, then got in himself. I tried running to his side, the driver's side, so I could somehow get in, but he...well, I guess he had the wrong gear and..." Arthur shrugged, remembering the sound and the pain and everything. "He ran me over."

The elder teen cleared his throat. "Just for clarification, you said he _ran over_ your legs?"

"Yes."

"Like...with a car?"

"A truck, actually."

Gilbert gave a sharp intake of breath. "He ran them over," he muttered. "Wow. I didn't expect that."

"What _did_ you expect?"

"I dunno. Just...not that."

They were silent for the rest of the walk, and Arthur found his face flaming red. Well, Gilbert wasn't judging him. Gilbert didn't even seem to _pity_ him. All Arthur could tell was that Gilbert was shocked. And, for some reason, that made him embarrassed. Even if he liked Gilbert's reaction much better than every other reaction he had. Suddenly, he found himself appreciating the albino a bit more.

"Here we are." Gilbert broke the silence, pushing Arthur inside the old library. "A place with books and wonder and magic and everything. Alright, where are you off to?"

Arthur glanced around. What did he want to do here? He actually wasn't in the mood to read anything like he usually did. He knew his mind would be wandering the whole time if he picked up a book. He really didn't think he would be able to focus on that today. Something else was weighing down on him. "I...I want to go ask the librarians if they have old magazines."

"Why?"

Trusting him enough now (since they exchanged secrets), Arthur cleared his throat. "My mother ran away from us a while back," Arthur replied, glancing over at Gilbert. "She joined some sort of cult. I always asked my dad for her address but he always told me he didn't know. One day, I found a picture of her in a magazine and an article all about the cult. Before I could find out the address to write to her, though, my father took it from me and destroyed it." He sighed, leaning back in his wheelchair. "She's been writing to me, but I never get the letters."

Gilbert blinked. "How do you know she's writing to you, then?"

Arthur smiled softly. "She loved me. I loved her with all my heart and she loved me back. There is no possible way she would leave without writing to me at least once a week. I _know_ she's sent letters. My father destroys them, though. Otherwise, I'd still be in touch with her." He began rolling over to a librarian, smirking at Gilbert. "Have fun reading your books about pretty nurses."

"Hm?" Gilbert was thrown off by the sudden change of topic, but quickly grinned. "Oh, I will. Gilbert _always_ finds the awesome books with the hot nurses."

Arthur rolled his eyes before stopping by the librarian. "Excuse me, but do you have any old magazines?"

The librarian smiled down at him, obviously noticing his casts. Arthur could see that look of pity in her eyes. He held her gaze though he really wanted to look away. He didn't want her to feel sorry for some kid she had just met, especially when she didn't know the story behind it all (and, if she did know, that look would change into one of horror, Arthur knew it). "Of course we do," she said. "If you would just follow me, I'll take you to them."

She did, and she even offered to stay and help, which Arthur politely refused. He knew she was only asking because of his legs. He didn't want to be some charity case and besides, he could do it just fine on his own.

He peered through the titles of each magazine, his heart hammering when he found the pile with the 'Our Earth'. Without even looking around some more, he eagerly began flipping through that one pile, his eyes growing wide as he found the one he wanted. He knew the cover by heart. This one was it.

"Found it?" Gilbert's voice made him jump, and Arthur put a hand to his heart as he looked over at the albino. He was holding a book and looking quite exasperated.

"Damn, Gilbert. Please don't scare me like that." He rolled away from the magazines and looked at the one in his lap. "Yes, this is it."

Gilbert nodded. "Good, I was starting to get bored. Come on, let's go home. Nurse Georgia is a complete bitch."

Not even bothering to find out what Gilbert was talking about, Arthur held up a hand. "I don't want the magazine. I just want to look through and see if I can't find out where she is." He found the page with the picture, the picture where she looked so incredibly happy, happier than she had ever looked when she lived with her husband. Arthur felt a lump form in his throat.

"That her?" Gilbert crept up behind Arthur, pointing down at the picture.

"Yes. Let me read the article."

With a grunt, the German pulled back. "Well, hurry up. I don't have all day. Besides, Alfred will be back from the hospital shortly. Lucky duckling, that kid actually loves those twins enough to be allowed to visit them."

Arthur shrugged, only half paying attention. "Well, they didn't make him miserable. They, at least, cared for and loved him." His eyes scanned the page.

"Yeah. I just want that kid back soon. He's a sweet boy, and I usually don't like little kids." Gilbert sighed, showing his impatience, then opened the book he had. "Look, Nurse Georgia couldn't save this guy from the war, and she fell in love with him, but then he's dying and she's all, 'know that I love you more than I love my own life', and she grabs his hand and they kiss." And, with that, he slammed the book shut. "Satisfying ending, don't you think?"

Still not really listening, Arthur nodded. The article was talking about how a group of people, men and women, lived together and sacrificed everything for the environment. They didn't have cars or phones or anything with electricity, really. Thankfully, though, they were able to receive mail. And they even gave an address for people who wished to contact them. Fighting back a smile, Arthur took out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. "Do you have a pen, Gilbert?"

"What do I look like, some sort of scholar?" Gilbert scoffed, setting his book on a random shelf. "I'll get one from a librarian, hold your horses."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Alfred swallowed nervously as they neared the hospital. He suddenly wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing there. He had never really talked to the twins before and to do so now, when they were in the hospital...what on earth was he supposed to say?

Mr. Martin seemed to notice his anxiety. "Are you alright, Alfred?"

"Y-Yeah," Alfred stammered, wetting his lips. "I was just trying to figure out what I was going to do once I see the twins. We usually don't speak to each other."

"Well..." Mr. Martin made a turn, his driving just as cautious as his speech. "Perhaps you don't even need to say anything. If that's the way you grew up, the twins would understand." He smiled. "You know, I was the same way when I was younger. I never said 'I love you' to my mother."

Alfred looked at him in awe. "Never?"

"Nope. Never. Not even once." Mr. Martin sighed. "When she was in the hospital, we all knew she was going to die. And, when that day came, her family gathered around to say their final goodbyes to her. She beckoned me over and grabbed my hand and just _smiled_ at me. I smiled back, though my eyes were full of tears, and we just stood like that for a little while. Then she broke it by saying, 'I love you, Roy'. She never said that to me before, just as I had never said it to her."

"What did you do?" Alfred was clearly enthralled with the tale- no one ever told him stories before.

Driving slowly so they could have more time to talk, Mr. Martin continued. "I stood there. I just stood there and stared at her and my mom stared at me. And everyone around me started to whisper. My father nudged me and hissed, 'say it', my aunt glared at me and started to motion with her head, even the nurse started pushing me. Finally, that nurse cried out, 'He said it, Miss! It was real quiet, but he said it, I heard him!'" Mr. Martin smiled. "Bless that lady's heart. My mom smiled and broke eye contact with me and whispered, 'That's good' and...well, that was it. She died right then and I'm so thankful for that nurse. I did love my mother. I truly did. I just wasn't sure how to tell her so."

Alfred nodded. "I know what you mean. I love the twins but...I've never told them and I don't know how." He glanced out the window. "How do you say it now? Like, do you ever say it to your wife?"

"I do say it to her. It's usually when she says it to me but, every now and then, I'll tell her it first. She's the one that has helped me to say it, though. Lisa, that's her name, is a very friendly person. When someone's down, she pats their back and tries to comfort them. She's always telling her friends and family how much she loves them. I just became enchanted with her personality. That's one of the things I love most about her. She managed to make _everyone_ feel special and I hope that I can one day be like that." He pulled into the hospital, and Alfred tensed up again. "Relax, Alfred. It won't be as hard as you think it might, I promise."

Alfred bit his lip. "Do you think they'll be angry if I don't tell them?"

Mr. Martin mused Alfred's hair. "No. I think they'll still love you no matter what. And, like you told me, they already know you love them. There's no need for you to prove your feelings- they can tell."

"Right." Alfred swallowed his fear and climbed out of the car, suddenly realizing how tiny he was compared to the hospital. Was it supposed to be that big? How many other people would be watching him stumble over his words? "Maybe we can come back another day," he whispered.

Mr. Martin chuckled. "Come along, Alfred. I'll be right beside you the whole time."

Alfred glanced up at the kind man, suddenly wanting him to just keep talking. He got lost in his little stories and he wanted to get lost, at least until he made it to the twin's hospital room. He didn't want to drown in anxiety until then. "Can you tell me how you and Mrs. Martin met?"

"What?"

"J-Just until we get to their room," Alfred clarified, looking away.

It was silent for a few seconds, Alfred biting down on his lip once more, before Mr. Martin said, "Alright. We were at a charity event for children, actually..."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

"Talk to me, Artie." Gilbert kicked at Arthur's desk from his spot on the lower bunk. "Come on, speak. Converse. We can discuss anything. Hell, even the president. I'm sure Jimmy Carter has an interesting life, being president and all."

Arthur was bent over the letter he was writing, casting irritated glances over to his friend. "Quiet. I'm trying to write."

"Yeah, and _I'm_ trying to talk to you. I'm bored and I wanna be a president."

"Why is that?" Arthur asked, trying to at least stop the repetitive kicking of his desk.

Gilbert shrugged. "They're probably always doing something. And I bet they get free ice cream. I don't get free ice cream."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And their socks never have holes. Did you know that one of my socks I found the other day had a hole in it? Can you believe it, Artie? I take good care of my socks, and one got a _hole_!" When his words were met with silence, Gilbert blinked. "Alright, look, I'm trying to hold a simple conversation here. I'm really bored, and I wanna talk."

Arthur scribbled some words out. "About socks?"

"Sure."

"You're bored and you want to talk about socks?"

The kicking stopped. "Oh. Well, that does seem kind of stupid if you say it like that." He chuckled, falling back onto the pillow. "Man, I wish Alfie would come back soon. He'll probably go play in the sandbox with me. But _you're_ a complete bore who doesn't want to play in the sand."

"If you haven't noticed, Gilbert, I'm confined to a wheelchair. It's a bit difficult for me to play in the sand."

Gilbert glared at him. "If you haven't noticed, Arthur, shut up." He sat up again, drumming on Arthur's desk. "I'm _bored_!"

"As you've said."

"There's nothing to _do_!"

"As you've also said."

"Pay attention to me, Artie!"

Arthur sighed. "Now you're just annoying me. Go ask Mrs. Martin or something and leave me alone for a few minutes."

Gilbert stood, deciding that doing something for Mrs. Martin was a lot better than dying of the boredom that seemed to follow Arthur wherever he went. "Jerk."

"Wanker."

"Whatever that means." Gilbert stuck out his tongue one last time before heading off into the kitchen, calling loudly, "Gilbert's bored and needs something to do!"

As if on cue, Mrs. Martin came from the kitchen. "Oh, good, sweetie. You can help me cook. Put on that apron right over there and come on."

He wanted to complain just for the sake of complaining, but then he figured that this would be a good way to relieve his boredom. Besides, cooking was a good skill to have and he actually found it rather fun. Especially if it meant that Arthur wasn't helping to cook. He might use his legs as an excuse, but Gilbert knew those scones weren't supposed to be darker than the sky at night. "What are we making?"

"Oh, just some spaghetti. You can work on the salad, though, since I'm almost finished with the sauce and noodles," Mrs. Martin replied, adding a dash of some sort of spice to her sauce.

"Salad?" Gilbert made a face, straightening out the frilly apron (and realizing he looked damn good in whatever he wore). Trust the foster parents to ruin a meal with healthy foods. "Can't Mr. Martin and Alfred just pick up some KFC or something. I know Artie would appreciate it, if he could ever get off his lazy ass. He's been writing ever since we got home from the library."

Mrs. Martin shrugged. "I suppose there's a lot he wishes to tell her. Grab the lettuce from the fridge."

Doing as she asked, Gilbert responded, "I sure wish someone in _my_ family cared enough about me to send me a letter. Or to read one that I sent to them." He began tearing the lettuce apart in a bowl. "But, nope. They dump me off on you guys and go have fun being the idiots that they are." He sighed. "I really do hate them today."

"Today? Grab the carrots."

"Well...right now. Earlier today I wanted to go back home with them." Gilbert laughed, slicing the carrots. "I guess I belong with them. We're all idiots."

Mrs. Martin shook her head. "No, Gilbert. You're a very smart, bright young lad. It's a pity your parents are too simple-minded to see that."

"Maybe. Do you want tomatoes?"

"Oh, no, dear, that's fine. Just add in some croutons and take that, along with the dressings I have in the fridge, and put them on the table. Thank you, darling."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

After Arthur finished his letter (he had to rewrite it at least five times), he sealed it and gave it to Mrs. Martin to deliver to the postal office later. He wished it could go out now, though. His nerves were a wreck, and all he wanted was for his mother to receive it.

"Once she does," he explained that night at dinner. "She'll come and pick me up and I can go and live with her."

Gilbert stabbed his salad, glaring at his British friend. "What, you're going to go join a cult and survive with no television? No fridge? Aren't all of them vegetarians? How are you gonna switch like that? I thought you liked meat."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I do like meat. But I can adjust. I'd do anything for my mom."

"Mm, that makes one of us." Gilbert turned to Alfred, who had arrived with Mr. Martin just minutes before dinner was served. "How about you, short stuff? Would you do anything for your mom? Or those twins? Whoever?"

The young boy shrugged. "I dunno. I don't want Arthur to leave, though. It'll be lonely without him."

Mr. and Mrs. Martin exchanged glances at the child's forlorn expression. Arthur stared sadly. "Don't worry, Alfred. Gilbert will still be here to watch over you, and I'm sure we can still visit each other, or mail each other letters."

Gilbert snorted. "Oh, sure, Gilbert will certainly be in here until he dies." He leaned back in his chair. "Don't you think your mom would have already figured it out by now? Social Services must have informed her that her child was going to some foster home, otherwise she could sue."

"Gilbert," Mrs. Martin warned, narrowing her eyes.

"No, wait, let me finish." Gilbert looked at Arthur, serious for once in his life. "If _you_ were able to get her address that easily, don't you think everyone else could contact her? They can't let the mother go on without her knowing where her child is. It's, like, illegal or something, I think. I've no idea, I'm not a lawyer." He rolled his eyes. "Point is, she probably knows where you are by now. And if she knows, why isn't she coming to get you?"

Arthur stared with wide eyes. He hadn't thought of that. He hadn't even considered the possibility that she might already know. Well, then, why _was_ he still here? Why hadn't she come like he thought she would if she knew? "She loves me," he murmured. "She loves me and she'd come no matter what. I know my mother, Gilbert. I know how much she cares about me. She's probably-"

"What a kind mother she is, caring _so_ much about her son and yet leaving him in the care of a man she probably knew was untrustworthy."

Slamming his hands on the table, Arthur gritted his teeth together. "Shut up, Gilbert. You're just jealous because you don't have any sort of loving family!"

"Jealous?" Gilbert scoffed. "Why would I be jealous of _you_? Your own father ran your legs over and your mother doesn't give a flying shit."

Mrs. Martin stood, eyes flashing. "That is _enough, _boys," she snapped. "Both of you need to be quiet. If I hear one more word out of either of you, you're both grounded. Gilbert, leave Arthur alone about his mother. And Arthur, just calm down a bit, okay? If Gilbert irritates you, just let it be." She let out a gust of breath, shaking her head. "I can't believe you two. You were getting along so well before this. Just...all of you go to your rooms. I'll clean up in here."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Later that night, Alfred found he couldn't sleep. The argument from earlier was bothering him. He hated it when they all fought. He just wanted everyone to get along and be friendly with each other. And there were two of his best friends, yelling at each other. Whimpering, Alfred climbed out of bed and raced across the hall to their room, knocking lightly on the door.

"Who is it?" Gilbert called out quietly.

"Me," Alfred muttered, opening the door. "Can I sleep in here with you two?"

Gilbert yawned. "Close the door and turn on the light. I can't see a damn thing."

Alfred did as he asked and was surprised to see both boys awake, though Gilbert looked close to falling asleep and Arthur was simply glaring up at the bed above him, probably trying to direct all his anger on Gilbert somehow. "Where can I sleep?" Alfred asked.

Arthur sighed. "Come climb in. Just mind my legs, you hear?" He scooted over and made some room for Alfred, who eagerly climbed in.

"Why were you guys fighting?" Alfred instantly asked, glancing over at Arthur.

"He started it," Arthur mumbled.

"Did not, jerk. I was just trying to tell you the truth and you refused to listen to it." Gilbert swung his head over to stare at Arthur. "You're too sensitive. Just calm down a bit and try and listen to reasoning."

The Brit let out a harsh laugh. "Reasoning my arse. You were just trying to start something."

Alfred bit his tongue, afraid they'd start fighting again. Cutting in, he said, "Arthur, Gil just doesn't want you to leave, that's all. Isn't that right, Gil?"

Gilbert blinked, obviously surprised. "Well, I mean...it will be a bit different without you. But my main concern was you, not me. I just don't want you to be disappointed if you learn that-"

"I won't 'learn' anything, Gilbert," Arthur growled. "I appreciate you looking out for me, but I'm fine." He sighed. "And I am sorry for what I said to you. That...that was uncalled for."

They stared at each other for a few more seconds before Gilbert lay back down and the two boys on the bottom bunk could no longer see him. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm sorry for all that I said. I could have broken it to you in a much nicer way."

Ignoring Arthur's scoff, Alfred grinned. "See? We're all friends again!"

"Sure, kid. Say, tell us how your visit went with those man-twins."

Alfred nodded, though he knew Gilbert couldn't see him. "Alright. Um...they actually talked to me a lot in the hospital room. Jefferson said that she and Thomas were going to die together, no matter what."

"That's depressing."

"Shush, Gilbert." Arthur looked over at Alfred. "Continue."

Still smiling, Alfred did. "And they asked me to go and water their garden and get their father's old watch so that no one will steal it while they're away. Then they fell asleep and I got to hold their hands, which is the second time I was able to touch them, and then I said, 'I love you' to them, but they were asleep and couldn't hear me, but Mr. Martin said that I said it and that's all that matters." He rubbed at his nose. "I miss them sometimes."

Arthur smiled softly, ruffling the young boy's hair. "I'm sorry, Alfred. At least you got to see them, though."

"Yeah." Alfred yawned, closing his eyes. He felt Arthur take off his glasses and put them on the desk beside the bed. "And they're happy. That's all that matters."

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, so I actually added in some sort of time period. Last chapter, Arthur mentioned how he wanted a 'type-writer' to write out all his stories. This is before personal computers were distributed (which was actually in 1977, thanks to one of my friends who cleared it up for me- I kept mixing up the dates) and during the presidency of Jimmy Carter. That's all.<strong>

**If you enjoyed this chapter, please feel more than welcome to leave a review!**


	5. Hurt

**Summer is actually super busy. Just an FYI. And it ends next week (manly sobs inserted here).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia!  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Is that him?" Gilbert asked, watching a car drive by.<p>

"No," Arthur responded, just as he had done every other time Gilbert had asked.

Gilbert nodded. "Good. 'Cause Mrs. Martin says that once he shows up, I'm not allowed to be out here. She says I should give you guys some time alone." However, he didn't want to give Arthur and his crazy father some 'time alone'. He was still shocked that, when Mr. Kirkland called to ask to take his son out to eat, the Martins said yes.

If it were him, he'd threaten to shoot the man. No, no, screw threaten. He'd just go ahead and shoot the man.

Gilbert sighed, sitting down on one of the porch chairs right next to Arthur, who was looking rather glum. "You don't wanna see him, do you?"

Arthur shrugged. "I'm not sure what I want anymore. I mean..." He swallowed. "Perhaps it won't be so bad of a visit. He _is_ paying for a good meal at an actual restaurant. We haven't had that in quite some time."

"I guess." Gilbert smirked. "I've never really gone to a good, actual restaurant in the first place. I mean, maybe when I was really young, but we couldn't exactly afford their prices." He paused for a second. "Either that, or my mom and whichever husband she was married to at the time just didn't want to take me."

"How many times was your mother married?" Arthur asked, looking vaguely curious.

"Mm..." Gilbert leaned back. "Once to my real father, obviously. He ran off before I got the chance to know him. Then she married Step-Father #1 who was a real bore and had a ton of children from previous marriages, so it really wasn't much fun being bullied by them. Then he left and, just a month later, she married Step-Father #2, who I'm pretty sure was a drug-dealer of some sort. He was actually cool with me, though. I mean, he was the only step-father who bought me presents, even when it wasn't my birthday. But, of course, he always smelled funny- which I think was the drugs- and he always had alcohol on hand, but he wasn't mean like every other one. And, after him, she married Step-Father #3, and now I'm here."

Arthur grimaced. "That's quite a lot of fathers for someone of your age to go through," he mentioned, glancing over the the young German teenager. "I'm sorry. I don't believe I realized just how bad it was for you."

Gilbert snorted. "Artie, don't _you_ apologize. I'm not the one whose crazy father ran over my legs." He watched another car drive up the road. "That him?"

"No," Arthur groaned. "I said that I'd tell you when he arrived. Quit asking."

"Alright, fine, geez." Gilbert drew back from Arthur, leaning up against the wall of the house. "I wonder how Alfred's doing. Poor kid." He sighed, remembering how they received the call about the death of Jefferson earlier on in the week. "He was pretty down about it. And Thomas is still alive, but they said she wouldn't be for much longer. So, after he finishes this funeral, he's gonna have to go to another one." Gilbert shook his head. "I feel bad for him."

Arthur nodded. "Yeah," he muttered softly. "I do, as well. I've never been to a funeral before."

They fell silent after that, Gilbert glancing over at Arthur whenever he saw a car drive by. However, the young Briton said nothing, simply watching as the cars left his line of sight. After a while, Arthur gestured with his head toward a large, red truck. "There," he whispered, stiffening in his wheelchair. "That's him."

Gilbert looked over, eyes narrowing. "You sure?"

"It's the same truck." Arthur's voice was barely audible at this point, almost as if all the words he wanted to say were caught up in his throat. He picked at the armrest of his chair, obviously nervous and worried. Gilbert clenched his fists and watched as the truck pulled up into the driveway.

He wanted to punch the man.

He knew he had to go inside, he knew Mr. Kirkland hadn't provoked him in any way, but the _nerve_ of him, to be driving that same truck! Gilbert already hated his guts. "You call me if you need me," he grumbled.

"Thanks, Gilbert, but that won't be necessary," Arthur responded, clearing his throat and staring at the truck.

Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "You sure?" he asked. "I mean, I can pack a pretty good punch, even against that guy. I bet-"

"It's fine, Gilbert." Arthur's voice was sharp now as he watched his father climb out of the truck. "Just go inside like Mrs. Martin told you." When Gilbert made no move, Arthur glanced over at him. "Please?" he added.

It was the please that did it. "Aw, alright," Gilbert moaned. "But don't hesitate to call me." He left just as Mr. Kirkland started to walk up the porch, making sure to slam the screen door as hard as he could.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Arthur ignored the smile his father was giving him, opting instead to stare at the ground. Gilbert's offer was silly, but Arthur couldn't help but feel reassured that his friend was watching over him like that. He had never experienced friendship as deep as the one that he had struck with Gilbert.

"Hey," his father said, stopping in front of Arthur's wheelchair.

Arthur nodded politely, finally glancing up at him. "Hello," he responded.

It was awkward, he realized, for this was the first time he had actually spoken with his father since the accident.

"Um..." His father, too, seemed to be at a lost with what to say. "So, how is everything?"

"Fine."

"How are the, um...the legs?"

He gave the man points for trying. "They're...they're fine," he replied. Well, so they would be if they weren't stuck in casts. So they would be if he was actually able to use them. So they would be if he wasn't constantly reminded of what happened.

His father nodded. "Cool. Uh...h-how's the...home?"

"It's fine."

"The other kids treating you nicely?"

"They are."

Mr. Kirkland chuckled. "Yes, well, you can never tell with those foster-care children."

"_I'm_ a foster-care child," Arthur retorted, feeling the need to defend his friends no matter what.

His statement just confirmed the fact that the two of them no longer shared much of a relationship anymore, that it was far too strained to ever be repaired. His father swallowed. "Yes, well..." Another awkward silence fell. "H-How would you like to go out to eat?" the man asked after a minute or two. "There's this lovely Italian restaurant down the road."

Arthur shrugged. "I'd have to ask Mrs. Martin first," he said.

Suddenly, Gilbert poked his head through the door, grinning, and Arthur realized that he had been listening in the entire time. "I'll ask!" he exclaimed. "Don't worry!"

He did and, unfortunately for Arthur, she readily agreed. The young Briton found himself silently eating a fine lunch with his just-as-quiet father, neither one knowing exactly what to talk about. In much desperation, Arthur said the first topic that came on his mind. "I mailed a letter to my mother," he said, watching for his father's expression.

Mr. Kirkland winced but continued eating his spaghetti, his eyes downcast. "That's nice."

Arthur glanced down at his own meal. "She's going to come and get me," he muttered. "I told her where I was."

His father finally did look up, appearing a bit upset. "I already told her," he said quietly.

Arthur shook his head. "No, no you didn't. You never wrote her any letters. And she wrote us plenty, but you tore all of them-"

"Arthur, what the hell are you talking about?" When Arthur stole a second glance at his father, he was shocked to see blatant confusion. "She never wrote to us whatsoever."

That couldn't be true, though. Arthur knew how much she loved him, how much she cared for him. No, his father was a liar. His father was a dirty liar and he was hiding the truth. "She's coming to get me," he declared, his voice rising slightly. "She never knew I was in the foster home, because if she knew, she would-"

His father was shaking his head, denying it all, and Arthur was beginning to feel sick. "Arthur, I don't...I mean, I wrote to her. I _told_ her where you were. She never responded."

"You didn't." His stomach was turning.

"I did. Ever since she left, I've been writing to her and telling her everything. When you had your appendix removed, I told her."

"That's a bloody lie." He felt shaky.

"When I ran over your legs, I wrote to her and explained to her what happened- how the truck was new and-"

"That's not true." He was going to be sick. He was truly going to be sick. His voice was wavering, his eyesight blurring.

"She never did anything, Arthur. There were no returned letters, meaning she got them. And, when I _was_ finally able to contact you and ask if she knew what was going on, she told me she read the letters and was well aware of our troubles, but that they're our troubles and she isn't involved anymore."

Arthur couldn't speak. His mouth had gone dry. Instead, he just shook his head, refusing to believe a word of what his father was telling him. His mother _loved_ him. His mother hated hearing about his pain. His mother would always have been there for him, but his father just wasn't telling her. "Is it enough that you break my legs?" he finally asked, glaring at his father with all the hate he could muster. "What, you can't stand the fact that you didn't destroy me? Now you have to sit here and lie to me?"

His father narrowed his eyes. "Arthur, keep your voice down. I'm telling the truth."

"No you're not. You're a liar!"

"Arthur, shut up. She didn't. Write. Back."

"That's a lie!" Now Arthur was attracting the attention of other customers. He noticed the embarrassed blush rise up on his father's face, but he really didn't care. He just hated the falsehoods his father was feeding him.

"Arthur!" Suddenly, his father's voice was just as sharp, just as loud. "She didn't _write!_"

For some reason, it was that tone that caused Arthur to lean back in his seat, now unable to say any more. He stared at his father, green eyes wide and horrified. Noticing that he was finally getting through to his son, the elder man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I...I asked her to come and take you away. I knew you wanted her to. You always did love her so much more than you loved me. And I understand why, of course. But..." His father chuckled, shaking his head and looking at his lap. "She...well...yes, you're still in foster care."

Arthur stared down at his food, his appetite gone and his body unmoving.

"Um...uh, Arthur...eat your food." His father was attempting to get back in the routine of normal chit-chat.

Arthur, however, couldn't go back to normal. "I'm not hungry," he whispered, pushing it away.

He didn't think he'd be hungry for a while.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

They were driving back from the funeral, Alfred feeling all too stuffy and hot in the itchy, black suit he was wearing, when Mr. Martin spoke, "So, um...I'm sorry about...about Jefferson, Alfred."

"Yeah." The boy's fists clenched at his knees.

"I know what it feels like to have someone close to you die." Mr. Martin chuckled nervously. "My mother, like I told you, she...she died when I was about your age."

Alfred nodded. "I know," he murmured, glancing out the window.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to discuss death. He had never had anyone so close to him die before and it hit him harshly. It beat around in his mind, reminding him over and over and over again that he was now almost fully alone. His guardians, the women who had taken care of him from the time he was a baby, were going away. Leaving him. His throat felt scratchy and he blinked back his tears.

Mr. Martin continued talking. "Like the pastor said, she's in heaven now." He reached over and awkwardly patted Alfred's shoulder. The young boy enjoyed the contact, enjoyed the comfort it brought to him. "You'll see her again."

Alfred swallowed. "Y-yes," he murmured. The twins always told him heaven was a beautiful, wonderful place, full of streets of gold and beloved family members. Alfred always imagined finding his real mother in such a wonderful paradise, but now he realized it wasn't her that she wanted to see.

It was Jefferson and, when her time came, Thomas. Those were the two who would be waiting for him. "In heaven," he started, his voice quiet. "They'll be able to walk better. They won't have hurt knuckles anymore. They can sing again, like they told me they used to be able to. And they said that...that they'll be able to see their father again." He gave a small smile. "They told me he really liked Thomas Jefferson. The president, I mean. They're related to him, somewhere down in their family." He remembered them telling him that small snippet of information, and it didn't seem like anything important at the time, but now Alfred just wanted to hold onto it forever and always.

"That's interesting," Mr. Martin replied, nodding over at Alfred. "Did they tell you anything else?"

Alfred shifted in his seat. "W-We didn't talk much," he said, rubbing at his hands. "They were quiet all the time, 'cause they said it hurt their throats when they talked. But...sometimes they would tell me stories of the farm they used to live on." He scratched at his cheek. "And...they told me that they never took care of a child before. Neither of them were ever married."

"Do you know why?"

"Um...no. They just told me I was their first child." He remembered puffing his chest out proudly when they said that, pleased that they considered him a son. "I think that's why they were nervous around me. They just...didn't know how to take care of anyone."

Mr. Martin nodded. "Well, they did an excellent job with you," he said fondly. "I doubt I've ever seen such a well-behaved, handsome young man."

And Alfred was brought back to the time where he dressed nicely for Easter Sunday and the twins smiled and said, "What a handsome, young man you are!" He sniffed, the memory bringing tears to his eyes. But, no, he wasn't going to cry. He had kept silent throughout the entire funeral. He wasn't going to cry now. He wasn't going to act like a baby.

But the tears came and Alfred couldn't do anything to stop them. "I-I'm sorry," he choked out, burying his face in his hands. "I-I-I just m-miss them. I don't w-want Th-Thomas to die. I-I want Jefferson to come back an-and we can all li-live together in th-their house again and I'll do _all_ the chores for them, I pr-promise, and they'll ne-never have to-"

He stopped when he realized Mr. Martin had pulled the car over and gathered him into a hug. Hugs were something rare, something he never experienced. His body stiffened against Mr. Martin's arms, but as the man rubbed a hand up and down his back and whispered comforting words into his ear, Alfred let himself cry once more, buried in the safety of Mr. Martin's white dress shirt, finally able to cry and let his true feelings be known.

And he wasn't being judged. Mr. Martin was holding him gently, calmly, not even telling Alfred to stop crying, not even telling Alfred that crying was only for babies and that real men shouldn't cry.

No. He was _letting_ him cry, letting him release all of his pent-up emotions.

"It's okay," he whispered softly, rocking Alfred gently back and forth. "It's okay."

Despite the tears streaming down Alfred's cheeks, the young boy couldn't help but feel that it all _would_ be okay.

He had found someone else to care for him. He wasn't all alone. He still had a family.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Gilbert was there waiting for Arthur, as he had been since his friend left. It was a boring task, yes, but he wanted to make sure that scumbag of a father didn't do anything wrong. Once the young Briton rolled up the walkway, Gilbert ran over, raising his eyebrows at Mr. Kirkland. "I think I got it from here!" he exclaimed.

Mr. Kirkland bit his lip and nodded, and Gilbert was surprised at how easily he let Gilbert take control of the wheelchair.

"Yes. Well, um...I'll be seeing you around, Arthur."

His son didn't even look up as Mr. Kirkland walked back to the truck, waving as he drove away. "Huh." Gilbert clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Wonder why he seemed to be in such a hurry." He began pushing Gilbert up the ramp to the Martin's house. "So, was it fun?"

Arthur was silent.

"Did you eat a bunch?"

Still nothing.

"Did he, uh...did he say anything that...that made you-"

"Gilbert, I'm tired. Just please take me to my bedroom," Arthur whispered, staring at the ground and refusing to look over his shoulder at Gilbert's inquisitive expression.

The German nodded, a little bit worried. Sure, Arthur was grumpy and moody all of the time, but this just...this wasn't a grumpy or moody Arthur. No, this was a defeated Arthur. And that thought terrified Gilbert.

He rolled the boy inside, but before they could go any farther than the living room, Mrs. Martin peeked out from the kitchen. "Is everything alright? How did lunch go?" she asked, smiling brightly.

Arthur shrugged and Gilbert rolled his eyes. "He's tired, Mrs. Martin," the albino explained. "I think, anyway. I'll take him to his room and let him get some rest."

Mrs. Martin stared at the two for a second before nodding, and Gilbert didn't miss the look of 'you'd-better-tell-me-everything' that she shot him.

He quickly reached their bedroom, closing the door behind him. "Alright." He drew away from the wheelchair, facing Arthur to give him a large smile. "Now, how 'bout telling me what's wrong."

Arthur simply shook his head. "I just want to go to bed," he said, picking at his armrest (which Gilbert had discovered was a nervous habit of his).

The albino sighed. "Well, fine. Whatever. Get in bed, then and don't tell anyone anything. God knows we got enough of _that_ going around here." He wanted to punch Arthur's father. If the man turned Arthur into a defeated mess like this, he deserved to be punched and kicked and beaten until he wasn't even conscious any more.

Rather than pull himself into bed as he would have normally done, Arthur stared at the small distance he would have to roll himself from the middle of the room to the beds, just a mere few feet away. "I can't...I can't make it," he said, his voice hushed.

"Hm? Can't make that little roll? Weirdo. But, since I'm awesome, I guess it'd be okay if I helped you out-"

"No, I can't...I can't make-"

"Fine, I'll carry you into the bed myself. Geez, you're gonna grow fat if-"

"Gilbert, I can't make it." Silence fell with Arthur's last statement and the young boy ducked his head. "I can't make it, period," he murmured sullenly, his heartbroken face etching it's way into Gilbert's heart.

Gilbert didn't speak for a few seconds. He couldn't think of anything to say. His mouth fell partially opened as he stared at Arthur. The usually-proud boy was now hunched over in his wheelchair, accepting whatever insults his father had probably thrown at him. Accepting and believing.

"You..." Gilbert took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He knew he had anger issues, and he knew that yelling would just make everything worse. "You...you stop talking like that," he finally growled, clenching his fists by his side. "Shut up and get into bed. Just go to sleep and you'll be well-rested and, when you wake up, we can write another letter and your mother will come, like you-"

That did something. That struck some sort of nerve. Arthur's head shot up and he glared at Gilbert, tears forming in his eyes. "Will you leave me alone?" he asked, his voice wavering. "Just go, alright? I'm going to be here for the rest of my damn life and I don't need you mentioning _anything _about my mother, because she isn't coming and-"

"If you give up, I swear that I'll beat the shit outta you," Gilbert hissed, letting his anger come. He wasn't going to hold back any more. "Listen, you were the one that was fighting with me just the other week about these stupid letters. They'll work, alright?"

"Then how come we've been waiting for weeks?" Arthur snapped back. "It shouldn't be taking this long. Will you just give it up, Gilbert? She isn't going to come for me."

"How the fuck do you know that?" Gilbert asked, grabbing one of the unfinished letters on Arthur's desk. "Look, just complete this letter. Third time's a charm, right? Complete it and-"

"Goddammit, Gilbert, she isn't coming!" Arthur shouted, snatching the letter from the German boy's hands and ripping it in half. He threw it on the ground, running his fingers through his hair and letting his tears fall. "She _knows_ Gilbert! She knows where I am and she won't come. She gets my letters. She gets every single bloody letter, but she says it isn't her problem and...a-and..." He sobbed into his hands, unable to complete his sentence.

Gilbert stood there, shocked and unable to comprehend it. Arthur _had_ given up. On everything. And he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for the guy. "What, so you're just going to sit here and wail like a pathetic baby?" he asked, crossing his hands over his chest. "You're just giving up on life in general? No hope for you and all that shit?"

Arthur looked up from his hands, face filled with utter despair, to choke out, "Y-You don't know what it _feels_ like, Gi-"

"I don't know what it feels like?" Gilbert laughed bitterly. "Oh, this is hysterical. _I_ don't know what it feels like to have parents who don't give a fuck about you?" He raised his eyebrows, all traces of laughter gone. "At least your father takes you out to eat, Arthur. He cares about you _that_ much. He visited you. He _visited_ you, and he paid for a meal, and he's actually going to those 'anti-drinking' classes and working things out with his life. And what are my parents doing? Partying. They're going drinking and taking drugs and having a grand old fucking time!"

He didn't care that it was now Arthur's turn to look shocked. He kept going. "And what about Alfred? Poor kid, he never even _knew_ his damn parents. He just got dumped, Arthur, _dumped_ on the side of the road and left to fend for himself. The only family he's ever known is dying. But is he giving up?" The albino shook his head, crimson eyes blazing with anger. "Hell no. Alfred is still as cheerful as the day he came in here. Despite all that _he's_ going through. And am I giving up? Hell no. I could care less now if my parents hate me, 'cause I like hating them right back. And if your mother doesn't understand that you need her, that you need a caretaker, she can go fuck herself."

Then, just so Arthur could hear, Gilbert placed each of his hands on either side of the armrest on the wheelchair, glaring at the Briton. "I don't normally find people I like, Arthur. I typically hate everyone, and everyone hates me, and that's how I like it. But you have wormed your way into my cold heart, you asshole. You're my best friend and I'll be damned if you give up. I like you, alright? And when I say I like someone, that someone has one of the strongest hearts I know. You, Arthur...you have a strong heart, but you're being a fucking _baby_. What is it you tell Alfred when he comes into our room from a nightmare? What is it?"

Realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question, Arthur stammered, "St-stiff upper lip."

"Exactly. And you need to follow your own advice, 'cause it actually works wonders." The albino straightened up, still glaring. "Now get into bed and don't wake up until you actually care about your life, do you hear me? And if that takes you an entire week, so be it. I don't want you moping around and being all lifeless and shit. I want that fun Arthur, the one who helped me teach Alfred to read, the one who took trips with me to the library, the one who told me I can't sing to save my life. _That's_ the Arthur I became friends with." He exited the room then, ignoring Arthur's wide, green eyes, and stomped off to the kitchen, where Mrs. Martin raised her eyebrows at him.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

Gilbert rolled his eyes, knowing all too well that she had been listening in. "Dunno. Gimme some work to do."

"Work?" Mrs. Martin blinked. "You never ask for work."

"The tides have changed and, if I don't do _something_ with my hands, I'm gonna end up strangling quite a few people."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Unfortunately, Arthur didn't exactly listen to Gilbert's words. He tried, he truly did, but there was that awful, sick feeling he got whenever he so much as smiled.

His mother hated him.

His mother hated him and it just hurt so bad. He didn't want to do anything any more. He _couldn't_ do anything any more. Not with the knowledge that he had no one there for him.

He played ill. He acted as if he was simply feeling nauseous so that no one would accuse him of being depressed. He didn't want to be accused. He didn't want to be a burden. He wanted to be a good friend, more than anything, but how could he when he couldn't even bear to pick himself up in the mornings?

And, despite Gilbert's anger, he still stuck right beside Arthur.

"Look what cereal I got you this morning!" Gilbert exclaimed, bringing a tray of food over to Arthur. "Cheerios! See, I figured that you'd like Cheerios, since it's such a British sounding word. Don't you guys go around saying 'cheerio' all the time?"

Arthur blinked, wanting to somehow portray all of his gratitude in a single stare, but it really wasn't working. He knew his face was blank, just as it had been for the past week or so.

"Alfred's doing fine, by the way," Gilbert stated, giving Arthur a raised eyebrow. "He was kinda glum when he came home from Thomas' funeral yesterday evening, but I think he's doing a lot better today."

What Arthur wanted to do and what Arthur did were two totally different things. Questions about the young boy burned on his mind, but when he opened his mouth to voice them, nothing came. His throat was so dry, and it was beginning to hurt to simply talk. Arthur wondered if he was making himself sick.

"How are your feet doing?" Gilbert asked, trying to break the silence.

Arthur froze, spoon in his mouth. How _were_ his feet doing? He actually kept forgetting to check on them as the doctor had ordered for him to do. _What's the point?_ he would always ask himself. Did it matter how his feet were? If he was just going to be stuck in a foster home for the rest of his life, why should he, or anyone else, care how his feet were?

"I'm...I'm not sure," he truthfully responded, swallowing the cereal he had in his mouth. "I...I haven't-"

"You haven't checked on them?" Gilbert looked a bit shocked. "Geez, Artie, you're supposed to be the prime example of a patient. Doctors love you! Dentists love you! I think." He grabbed Arthur's blankets. "Let me take a look at 'em. Since I wanna be a doctor myself, this will be good training."

Arthur shook his head, bringing up a hand to stop Gilbert. "No, that's quite alright," he argued. "They're probably fine."

But he really shouldn't have bothered wasting energy trying to cease Gilbert's actions. The boy did what he wanted, when he wanted. And he lifted up Arthur's covers, taking a close look at his feet. He poked one of the casts, earning a tiny wince from Arthur.

"Did that hurt?" he asked, glancing up at the Englishman.

"No."

_Yes._ It really hurt. Instantly, Arthur knew something was wrong.

And he couldn't bring himself to care.

Gilbert looked back down at the casts, biting his lip. "Artie...your toes aren't...they're not supposed to be this red." He narrowed his eyes. "Seriously. Your toes are swollen as hell. Does it hurt?"

"I already told you, it doesn't. Just leave it be."

"Liar."

Yes, he was. It hurt like hell and he didn't mind.

Gilbert, on the other hand, did. "I'm telling Mrs. Martin."

Arthur glared at his friend. "Don't," he hissed. "She doesn't need to be burdened with something so insignificant. She has enough to handle at the moment."

"Idiot, she's cooking, not ruling the world." Gilbert walked to the door. "I'm telling."

"Gilbert, I said don't!" Arthur yelled after him, but the boy didn't reply. Instead, he heard rapid speech from just the next room. Recognizing defeat when he saw it, he leaned back on his pillow, staring at the bottom of the bed just right above him.

He didn't care anymore.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Alfred sat on the couch, anxiously glancing out the window every five seconds. It had been hours since Mrs. Martin rushed Arthur to the hospital, and he was scared he'd never see the young Briton again.

"When do you think they'll be back?" he asked Gilbert, who was sitting beside him and casting the same anxious glances out the same window at the exact same times.

He shrugged. "Dunno," he muttered. "But, lemme tell ya, check-ups never last for this long. So they must have found something to be wrong."

Alfred shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "How bad do you think it was?"

Again, Gilbert shrugged. "Hard to say," he muttered. "I'm guessing his legs are infected. He hasn't been caring for them, since he didn't know, and...he felt the pain. I have no idea how _long_ he's felt the pain, but he certainly knew something was wrong with his leg when I checked on it." The albino sighed. "He's giving up on us, Alfie. He's being so _stupid_ and just giving up."

Giving up...Alfred wasn't exactly sure what the term referred to, but it wasn't making Gilbert happy, which could only mean the worst.

Alfred tugged at Gilbert's sleeve, a terrified look etched upon his face. "G-Gil?" he stammered. "Is Artie gonna die?"

Oh, god, he really hoped not. Sure, heaven was a nice place and all, but Arthur wasn't old and wrinkly! Arthur was young and had an awesome accent and played fun games and teased Gilbert and tried baking scones once (Alfred was the only one who ate them).

Luckily, Gilbert just chuckled, ruffling Alfred's hair. "No, you weirdo. He won't die. Artie is a strong kid. He'll pull through this."

Gilbert's words comforted Alfred, just as Mr. Martin had before. "Oh, good," he said, releasing the breath he didn't know he had been holding. "He's one of my best friends ever. Like you. You and Artie are my best friends, and I really don't wanna lose you."

"Aw, right back at ya, kid," Gilbert replied, pulling Alfred into a one-armed hug. "You and Arthur, as sappy and unawesome as this sounds, are...I dunno, are my best friends and you helped me out a lot."

"How?" Alfred didn't _think_ he did anything too special. He always felt silly running into their rooms from a nightmare or stealing Arthur's blanket to be a superhero or always calling for them to eat hamburgers. If anything, he was probably more of an annoyance. But if Gilbert thought of him as something else, then he would gladly be proven wrong.

"By being yourself," Gilbert responded. "I mean, we all have crazy backgrounds, but you and Arthur helped me get through mine. You two were the source of normalcy in my crazy life, despite how fu- messed up your own lives were. You didn't wallow about in self-pity and...well, Artie's doing that right now, actually." Gilbert rolled his eyes. "That bastard's an idiot. Don't grow up anything like him, 'kay, Alfie? Be more awesome, like myself."

Alfred had already been planning on doing just that, though. "I wanna be like both of you!" he said. "I want Artie's accent and your hair."

Gilbert suddenly burst out laughing, but it was stopped when the front door opened. In a flash, Gilbert and Alfred were by Mrs. Martin's side. "Damn, didn't see you pull up in the driveway!" Gilbert exclaimed. "So, where's Artie?"

"He has to stay for a few days," Mrs. Martin said, giving a sigh. "His legs are infected. He hasn't been taking care of them correctly."

"I knew it. I told ya, Alfie, didn't I?"

"Yes." Alfred nodded, swallowing nervously. "W-Will he ever come home?" he asked. The word 'infected' sounded pretty serious.

Mrs. Martin smiled softly. "Of course he will, dear," she answered. "He's simply not in the best of shape right now."

"Can...can we visit him?" Because _he_ always felt better when people stayed by his side.

Gilbert agreed with his idea. "Yeah! I might be able to cheer him up some."

"Tomorrow," Mrs. Martin said. "Visiting hours are closed right now." She patted Alfred's head. "Now, how about we go to McDonald's for dinner? Mr. Martin doesn't get home until much later, so-"

"I'm all for that," Gilbert said. "Besides, we need to eat as much as we can and think about what to give Artie as a gift."

"A gift?" Alfred asked, eyes shining with the prospect of being able to eat at the best restaurant in the world.

Gilbert nodded. "Yeah. Like, uh...not a get-well card, but...something special." He shrugged. "We'll decide later. For now, though, Big Macs all the way!"

And, despite the little reminder in his head that he should still be mourning, that he should be waiting for news on Arthur, Alfred couldn't help being excited for their meal tonight.

Besides, there would be time for all the sad parts later. For now, though, everything would be okay.

* * *

><p><strong>Alrighty, one more chapter to go! But, before I end this, I'm kinda gonna leave a lengthy end note on their current situations.<strong>

**Gilbert: His parents, um...don't really appreciate him all too much. On his mother's part, I'm sure there might be some sort of love, but his step-father could honestly care less. And he has this hate/love relationship with them. Some days, he can't stand them. Other days, he longs for the normalcy of their place. He grew up with his mom, and no matter what she feels towards him, he still has some sort of attachment there.  
><strong>

**Arthur: His father loves him. I swear, he does, he's just not responsible. He doesn't WANT to raise a child. But he doesn't HATE Arthur, if you catch my drift. His mother is now somewhat of a strange hippie. She wants to leave her entire life behind her, and that includes her husband and child. She just doesn't care anymore. She's too busy doing whatever it is her strange cult does (I imagine they sit there and take drugs all day and live life like they're back in the olden ages Except they have drugs.)  
><strong>

**Alfred: His parents were probably young and probably couldn't take care of him. I think they knew the old ladies living in that house would welcome a child into their little family. THAT'S the reason Alfred was dropped off there of all places. And the twins...well, they were already old enough when Alfred came to live with him, and they've never been fans of children, I would expect. However, they saw he had no home and so they showed him the love that they could, the love they knew about. They did love him with all their heart. They couldn't express it well, but they loved him so much. And he loved them just as much.  
><strong>

**So...yeah. We're about to wrap this up! Please feel free to leave reviews and your own thought on their situations (and this chapter- it sucks).  
><strong>


	6. Control

**In which Bob suddenly updates her story and finishes it and everyone is left wondering, "WTF."**

**Yep, so this story is officially finished! Doesn't mean I won't add on some sort of epilogue later, hint hint (I make no promises).**

**Warning: I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

><p>Gilbert hadn't expected visiting a friend in the hospital to be so difficult. Granted, none of his friends had ever <em>gone<em> to the hospital.

Also, he never really had any friends in the first place.

It was weird, he mused, to be staring down at the one boy he never thought he'd stare down at. Arthur was always so strong and confident. This kid laying in bed might have shared Arthur's face, but nothing about the two were similar in any way, shape, or form.

It was just so weird.

"So," he said, glancing around. "Alfie and I decided to visit you."

Arthur just stared up at the ceiling, his jaw set.

Gilbert gritted his own teeth, wanting so much to just leave. However, he had come in the room with the goal to make Arthur smile, and he was going to complete that goal as best he could.

"But that's pretty noticeable, isn't it? I mean, what else would we be doing in your hospital room?"

Arthur said nothing, and Gilbert found himself growing more and more irritated.

"You know, I made myself a scarf yesterday. I mean, I worked on it practically all night. It's long and red. I would have brought it to show you, but then I'd look really weird carrying around a scarf in the middle of summer, you know what I mean?"

Silence.

This was just plain awkward.

The German boy looked over at Alfred in a desperate plea for help. Alfred, however, had plastered himself to Gilbert's side and was staring at Arthur with wide eyes, almost as if the blond kid would drop dead at any minute. Based off of Alfred's experience in hospitals, Gilbert couldn't say he was surprised. Still, it would've been nice if he had someone to help loosen up the atmosphere a little. It was far too thick for his likening.

"You got any other visitors?" Gilbert suddenly asked. "Like, did your scum-bag of a father come over?" When Arthur still made no sound, Gilbert took a deep breath and decided to just toss caution to the wind. "Your mother?"

Arthur's entire body tensed up at that. His eyes shut and a painful yet quiet whimper made its way past the boy's tightened lips. Gilbert noticed the quiver of the chin and the set of the eyebrows and realized that Arthur had been trying the whole time not to dwell on that subject, lest he burst into tears.

"Sorry," the albino whispered, feeling awfully guilty (and strangely pleased, seeing as how he finally did get some sort of reaction). "I was just trying to make a conversation."

With Gilbert's apology, Arthur relaxed, though he didn't open his eyes.

"Come on, Alfred," Gilbert snapped, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "We're leaving. We'll be back tomorrow."

Alfred followed him closely out of the room, where Gilbert finally let his true feelings be known. "He makes me so sick. Just laying there like a dead fish or something. I understand his mom doesn't like him, but come _on._ This is just plain ridiculous! What the hell am I supposed to do to bring that life back into him?"

Alfred shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe we can get him a present," the younger kid suggested. "I think he might cheer up at that."

Gilbert snorted. "Well, I mean, it's worth a shot, since we got no other ideas. What do you think he'd like?"

Again, Alfred shrugged. "Maybe some cake? Like, a get-well cake."

"You think the nurses will allow it?" They walked out into the bright sunlight and slowed their steps, enjoying the lovely weather (and the fresh air- Gilbert found hospitals to be quite stuffy).

"They'll have to! If it will cheer him up and make him feel better, then they have to allow it!"

"Huh, you got a point." Gilbert sighed. "I just can't believe I failed at cheering him up. Me! I mean, I'm the awesome one! I'm the one who makes Arthur so grumpy all the time! Why couldn't I do that?"

Sadly, Alfred didn't seem to be paying much attention. Instead, he was staring across the street where two young girls were standing with a box. "Gil, look! Puppies!"

"Wow, something you don't see everyday," Gilbert mumbled angrily, but looked anyway. "Yeah, I see 'em. Free, too. They must really wanna get rid of them." He blinked curiously, stopping in his tracks. "What breed do you suppose those are?"

Alfred grinned. "I dunno! But they're really cute, aren't they? I was never allowed to have a puppy, since the twins said they were 'llergic, I think."

"Yeah, allergic." Gilbert narrowed his eyes, struggling to remember something. "Hey, remember when Arthur was real obsessed with writing lists down? It was that day I was teaching you how to spell. Arthur had written down how he really wanted a dog, but his mom never gave one to him."

Alfred looked thoughtful before nodding. "I think so," he replied.

Gilbert looked down the street, both ways, before grabbing Alfred's hand and crossing, amber eyes staring straight ahead at the box of little puppies.

"I know how to cheer Arthur up."

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Arthur didn't want to leave the hospital.

Oh, sure, he hated it as much as everyone did. The white walls, the white tiles, the white bedsheets, the white casts on his legs. Everything about a hospital was white. Pure. Made to be calming and relieving.

Except Arthur knew hospitals were anything but. He didn't know why they put up such an act. _Everyone_ knew that hospitals were a place, not for peace and happiness, but for pain and death. The only purpose the white served was in reminding Arthur that his mother always loved the color white.

She loved the peace that it stood for, the purity it stood for, ironically enough.

Arthur contemplated pushing himself out of bed and falling to the floor. A bit of pain would be nice. The nurses had slipped him painkillers in with the rest of his medication, he was assuming, for he couldn't feel much of the constant throbbing anymore. He wanted it back. It was helping to keep him sane, to keep him from remembering all those things he didn't particularly want to remember.

However, he had already given thought to the idea of purposefully falling out of bed in order to bring back that pain. And he had already come to the conclusion that it involved far too much moving around. He certainly wasn't in the mood to even lift himself up from the bed.

So he returned to staring at those damned walls, only getting in a few more minutes of self-pity before he heard the door to his room open. He didn't even bother trying to _guess_ who it was; the loud, German accent was enough for him to figure it out.

"You look like a fucking slug," was Gilbert's greeting as he came to stand beside the bed. "Jesus, I thought you would have _moved_ a little bit from yesterday."

Any other day and age, Arthur would have scolded Gilbert for being rude and using vulgar language in front of Alfred, but he was just content to stare at the wall and try to block out the voices cutting into his depressing thoughts.

"Anyway, we brought you a little get-well gift, Alfie and I!" Gilbert continued as if Arthur _wasn't_ ignoring him, something the Englishman hated very much. "Like, we both saw it and instantly decided that this would get that huge stick out of your ass."

Arthur just wanted to wince at such language, especially when Alfred didn't even bother looking unsettled from it as he normally did.

"Why don't you guess what it is?" Gilbert asked. "I love guessing games!" Without waiting for a response (he wouldn't have gotten one, anyway), he said, "Alright, it's white and it' got some black on it and it slobbers a lot and it's actually super fat."

He didn't give Arthur time to answer (which, again, was just as well, for Arthur probably _wouldn't_ have answered) before making some sort of rustling noise. It was then that Arthur looked over and noticed a large, brown, paper bag in Alfred's hands. Something was certainly moving around inside of it, and Gilbert struggled for a few seconds, but soon pulled out something that was indeed white and black and slobbery and pretty chubby. Arthur felt like his breath had escaped him, and Gilbert obviously felt like dumping the puppy in Arthur's lap.

"Happy late birthday!" he exclaimed. "Or, uh, early birthday! Not sure when your birthday is."

The puppy reached forward and began to lick Arthur's face. Arthur just laid there in complete shock. He wanted to pet the dog, goodness knows he did, but he felt as if it wasn't his place. There was no way they could have gotten him a dog. For one, how did they even know he _wanted_ a dog?

Oh. _Oh_. Arthur could have just cried. _The list._ They actually took what he had on his list to heart. They remembered him, and tried fulfilling his wish.

Alfred cleared his throat when Arthur still made no movement. "We named him Spot, 'cause he's got Spots on him," the young boy pointed out. "A-And we made sure we got one chubby enough to be super cuddly with."

"'Cept he's a wetter, that one," Gilbert complained. "I had to get another paper bag for him. And Mrs. Martin, duh, threw a mini-fit and told us we'd better figure out how to potty train him. Alfie and I have already started on _that_, though, so it won't take much longer until he just goes outside all by himself."

Arthur stayed still, trying to tell his hand to move.

"Should we try another puppy?" he heard Alfred whisper.

Then his muscles finally obeyed him, and Arthur brought a hesitant arm up to brush over the puppy's fur. It instantly responded, licking with renowned vigor and consequently wetting Arthur's fingers.

"Nope," came Gilbert's response to Alfred, and Arthur could just _hear_ the big shit-eating grin on the elder's face.

"Is-is this really for me?" Arthur whispered, glancing over at his friends. "I can keep him?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "No, we're gonna let you play with him for a bit then take him down to the Chinese restaurant. Heard they're buying. _Yes_, you idiot, you're stuck with that monster."

Arthur swallowed back the ball in his throat. "Th-Thank you," he breathed out, pulling the puppy closer to him in a hug. "Oh my god, thank you both so, so much."

"Yeah, well..." Gilbert looked embarrassed. "I mean, with a friend as awesome as me, how did you not expect an awesome get-well gift? Oh, and Alfred helped." Gilbert laughed. "But, if you wanna keep this thing, you gotta promise to stop moping around. An-And if you actually wanna play with him more than you are today, you gotta get better and come home. I'm not gonna try sneaking past the nurses with a wriggly bag anymore. We just gotta be thankful that Alfred here is a charmer to the ladies."

"I will," Arthur said. "I will get better."

He glanced over at his friends, saw their smiling faces, and cracked his own smile back. His mother didn't care for him, but it didn't weigh so heavily in his heart anymore. He didn't need someone who wouldn't care for him. His _friends_, though (and he was so proud to call them such, even Gilbert), cared more for him than anyone ever would. It was sad that it took a puppy for Arthur to realize it, but he knew it wasn't just the puppy. It was the fact they went through all that trouble just to see him smile.

The next few minutes turned into chaos as Arthur promptly burst into tears upon realizing that he had friends and Gilbert and Alfred fretted over him immensely. The puppy just licked up what tears Gilbert couldn't smother with tissues.

**X. X. X. X. X.**

Alfred's shadow was so much shorter than Gilbert's. That was the first thing he noticed as he glanced down at the sidewalk. Trying not to be noticeable, he began walking a little bit straighter, and when that still didn't work, he walked on his tip-toes.

He just couldn't get taller than Gilbert.

With a sigh, the young boy fell back in his original position and stared at the puppy in the albino's arms. "You think Mrs. Martin will really let us keep him?" he asked.

Gilbert snorted. "She seemed fine with it when we brought him in yesterday. I mean, I thought she was going to chew us out at first, but all I had to do was mention Arthur's name and she seemed perfectly all right with a dog." He looked just a little bitter, but Alfred couldn't help noticing the amused glint in his eye.

Alfred reached over and pet the puppy, and it instantly began flailing about in an attempt to return the young boy's affection. Gilbert grunted and renewed his efforts at keeping a tight grip on Spot. "He's sweet."

"Yeah, sure, and annoying." Gilbert suddenly grinned. "Hey, isn't that just like Arthur, though?"

Alfred couldn't help but let out a giggle.

They walked in silence for a few minutes after that, just enjoying the warm breeze that blew through the air.

Gilbert spoke again once they came in distance of a rather large school. "That's where you're gonna be going in a couple of weeks," he stated, pointing to it. "Garoger Elementary School."

Alfred made a face and scrunched his nose up. "I don't want to go there," he mumbled. "Can I go to school with you?"

The German shook his head, smiling. "Nah, I'm done with school. I mean, I'll be getting out of the foster home soon, too. Mrs. Martin and I already talked it over. I'm gonna be eighteen in a few months, and I can't be in the foster home anymore, so they're letting me borrow some money and I'm gonna go to college. Get a degree in medical science. See, if I were Artie's doctor, he'd be feeling one hundred percent better right now."

"You're leaving?" Alfred quietly asked.

Gilbert glanced down at him, and Alfred felt even smaller than his shadow. "Hey, don't you worry none," Gilbert soothed, a small smile coming to his face. "Like hell I'd forget you guys. I mean, I actually have _friends_. I've never had friends before."

"Neither have I," Alfred admitted, and that was the exact reason he wanted Gilbert to stay.

"You, me, and Artie, then," Gilbert responded. "Our only friends are each other." He nodded, then grinned as he held Spot even closer to him. "So I'll still visit and come by every so often. I mean, the college isn't too far from there. And you can visit me whenever you want. I'll be living in a dorm." He gave Alfred a nudge and winked. "It's co-ed."

Alfred didn't have the foggiest clue what that was supposed to mean.

"But why can't I just go to college?" Alfred whined, kicking at a rock on the ground. "And then Arthur can come and we can all be together!"  
>"Nah, Arthur's still gotta finish school. He's transferring to the local high school, Mrs. Martin told me." Gilbert stared at the elementary school as they walked past. "You're gonna be in first grade, I think. They were gonna put you in second, but since you've never been before." Gilbert shrugged his shoulders, then shifted the puppy in his arms. "And you'll probably be the oldest in your class. I think. How old are you, anyway?"<p>

Alfred looked thoughtful for a few seconds before shaking his head. "I don't know," he said. "I've never had a birthday."

"Never had a birthday?" Gilbert gave a low whistle. "We're gonna have to change that. We'll make it something memorable, too."

"What?"

"I'm giving you a birthday," Gilbert explained. "I mean, if you don't have one of your own just yet, logic clearly states that you _need_ a birthday. I mean, everyone's got a birthday. Come on, don't you want cake and presents and parties and shit?"

That actually did sound fun. Alfred nodded.

"When do you want it to be, then?"

"I can choose?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Sure, why not? Just choose a day, and that'll be your birthday."

Alfred's face screwed up in concentration, and he finally picked the day that held the most meaning to him. "The Fourth of July."

"Seriously?" Gilbert glanced over at the younger boy, clearly confused. "We've already passed that day. Don't you want one soon?"

However, Alfred shook his head. "No. I want the Fourth of July to be my birthday."

"Um." Gilbert pushed the puppy's invading tongue from his face, cursing all the while. "Okay, sure, but why that day?"

Alfred smiled fondly. "Thomas and Jefferson liked that day best," he said. "They had a big American flag. It's pretty old, and it doesn't have all the stars on it. They said that the Fourth of July is the best holiday. Other than Christmas and Easter and-"

"Yeah, all the religious holidays, I get it." Gilbert laughed. "Well, Fourth of July it is, then! I'll come over next year and help Mrs. Martin bake you a big cake, how does that sound? And we'll all go to the movies and then out to eat McDonald's. How old do you wanna be?"

Next year. Alfred's heart swelled at the mention of next year. Sure, they might be apart, might have gone separate ways, but Gilbert wouldn't forget, and Arthur wouldn't forget, and Alfred would never, ever forget. "Can I be seven?"

"Sure, why not? You look seven. Alright, I'm gonna plan the biggest birthday ever for when you turn eight. You'd better ready your britches, 'cause it's gonna be huge."

"Sounds good," Alfred muttered, reaching over and plastering himself to Gilbert's side. "Promise?"

All Gilbert had to do was grin, and Alfred was satisfied.

* * *

><p><strong>So, since this is over, I'd like to thank the faithful followers! Even more so, I want to thank the reviewers- I love being appreciated, because I know I am well worth it (my modesty knows no bounds). Hope you enjoyed, and feel free to check out my other stories!<br>**

**(I've got some great ones planned out, so stalk my page and await the amazing shit coming to theaters near you.)**


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